


Broken Circuits

by Woffles92



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond (Movies), SPECTRE (2015), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-15
Updated: 2015-12-23
Packaged: 2018-05-01 18:08:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 23
Words: 58,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5215574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Woffles92/pseuds/Woffles92
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Students destined for careers in MI6 have started disappearing from a University in Switzerland. Q enrolls Anna Winterman, a computer prodigy, to the institution to go undercover and be MI6's eyes and ears. But the course of international espionage never runs smoothly. Soon, Anna will learn that some Broken Circuits can't be fixed by solder. Set in the time between Skyfall and Spectre</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a cross-post from FF.net. It was written from 2013 - now.

Two sets of fingers hammered out on two different keyboards to the soundtrack of a generic pop turn on the radio. That was how we were happiest. It can be a dangerous balancing act sharing a flat with a friend. Sometimes you'll run the gauntlet and both come out the other side unscathed. However, it's just as likely that you'll tear a friendship to pieces as the little irks and disagreements mount up into a time bomb that can, and probably will, go off at some point. Luckily, Lucy and I seemed to co-exist quite happily. Perhaps she hogged the shower for too long in the morning but that was about it.

"What do you think of this?" she said, popping a link into the chat box. I suppose I could have just leaned over and looked at her screen. But that would have involved moving. I clicked and a dress popped up into the window from an online store.

"S'pretty," I mumbled with half-hearted interest. Lucy liked her dresses. Not that she had much occasion to wear any of them. We settled back into the white noise of keyboard tapping.

"Oh, you've passed all your winter exams," I announced a short while later.

"What?" she spluttered, followed by the frenzied clicking of her accessing the university website. "You're talking rubbish, the results aren't up yet!" was her dismayed cry a few moments later.

I sighed, sat upright and passed over my MacBook. She set hers onto the floor and took mine. Her eyes slid rapidly across the screen, then looked up at me over the lid of the laptop. The bluish glare from the screen reflected in her accusing eyes.

"How did you get these?"

I shrugged, "It's not that hard."

She handed the computer back with a frown. "I thought you said you'd finished with all that."

Again, I shrugged. She snapped the laptop shut. Her forehead wrinkled as she frowned. "Anna, you promised me."

"It's no big deal. It was just an attachment on an email. Oh, do you happen to know a girl called Carrie? Yeah, I think she's sleeping with one of your professors because she did horribly on the tests but one of them is arguing that she had 'exceptional' circumstances in her personal life but is refusing to back it up."

"I knew it," Lucy hissed, then as quickly as her face registered the shock of the Carrie scandal, it turned irritated again. "You're going to get into trouble."

"I've just saved you another week of stressing about results," I laughed, "the least you can say is thanks," I replied, both dodging her question, and relieving the tension between us. Lucy sighed and went back to her virtual dress shopping.

"Thanks," she grunted.

My dad was in IT pretty much at the beginning of when computers became a 'thing' and worked in the London Apple offices. It was a family joke that he would tell anyone who would listen about the one time Steve Jobs had called him 'indispensable'. I pretty much grew up around computers and at the age of about eight could pretty much run circles around any adult. If ever there was a problem, everyone knew to send for Anna Winterman. I was ten when he died. I know because he died the day after my tenth birthday, which is the 10th of September 2001. My dad had been at the head of team that was pitching new software to a company in the World Trade Centre. I think the incident is famous enough for you to work out the rest of the story for yourself. After my dad died, computers went from being a hobby to a full blown obsession. I think a part of me was convinced that somewhere in the circuit boards and World Wide Web, I'd find some lasting connection with my father. Part of me is still looking.

The hacking started after my mum had sent me to counselling. She was concerned that I was spending far too much time on my computer. My counsellor sent e-mail reports to my mother on my progress. I was simply curious as to what they said. It was all useless psyco-babble about obsessive tendencies and improper handling of grief. My 'problem' spiralled out of control when I got to secondary school and broke into my biology teacher's computer and switched out her sex ed video with a porno. Needless to say it was the most interesting lesson that Miss Shanks had ever given. When I was eventually caught for my 'pranks', my saving grace was Mr Harris. He begged the Principle to give me a second chance. My 'punishment' was to help with after school computer club, where he showed me some more creative outlets for my technological prowess.

At University I had taken an Undergraduate course in computer science, and was currently spending my third and final year on my PhD in computer engineering. Kings College London didn't exactly have the best Postgraduate programme in the world, but I didn't know what else to do, and looked doomed to be a perpetual student, forever burying myself under more and more student loans. My 'hacking' had quietened down to simple, and harmless stuff like getting exam results early for close friends.

Lucy was an undergraduate student a few years younger than me, studying English literature. Unlike me she had everything planned out. She was going to be an English teacher for a few years, build up a nest egg, and then write romantic yet poignant best sellers for the rest of her life.

It was mid-January, and bitterly cold. The route from my flat to the bus hadn't been salted, and was treacherously slick. Because it took me so long to traverse the paths, by the time I sighted my stop, the bus was already pulling out into traffic. London buses were, if not reliable, at least fairly frequent and it wasn't too long before another of the two storied red monsters loomed into view through the mid-morning darkness. I tapped my Oyster card onto the pad and found a seat on the upper deck. When I eventually got to my desk, there was a packet of 'luxury' cookies sitting on my table. A little silver bow was stuck to the corner. I ran my fingers through my hair and tried not to groan out loud. John clearly wasn't getting the hint. He was a computers undergraduate student on placement with our team and for some reason, god knows what, had become besotted with me. Every Monday he would leave bakery goods on my desk. Part of me felt mean, but I had absolutely no feelings for the guy in that way. I may have been rejecting his advances, but I wasn't going to reject the free confectionary.

I went shopping after I'd finished up at the University, and crashed into the apartment, arms laden with bargains from the January sales about 7pm. Lucy was fixing her hair front of the hall mirror in a sparkly dress and shoes that looked several inches past comfortable.

"I'm going out with some of the girls from my course, I'll see you later!" she touched my arm as she passed, grabbed a coat and scarf before she disappeared out the door. I spent the evening putting away my new purchases and gave myself a manicure while watching several back to back episodes of Mad Men. Just as I was about to turn in for the night, the boiler in the corner of the room gave an all too familiar clunk. We were out of gas. I topped it up online, reset the boiler and went into my bedroom.

It was shortly after 2am that the door slammed. I was under the duvet, satisfying my addiction for funnily captioned pictures of cats. I closed the computer lid and went to tell Lucy that she owed me half the money for the gas. I knocked on her door and was about to go in when I head a muffled cry of "busy!" from inside. It was followed by a throaty giggle and I backed away from the door. My suspicions were confirmed when I saw an unfamiliar coat and a pair of guy's shoes by the door. The gas money could wait to morning. I went back to my room, thankful that it was at the other end of the flat, and well out of earshot of whatever 'busy' was going on.

The next day I decided to work from home. That was the luxury of my degree, because most of the data for my research was on the University server, I could choose whether or not to go into the offices. I padded into the kitchen in my night clothes and slippers and flicked the kettle on. I was leaning against the counter waiting for it to boil when I heard an unfamiliar tread in the hall. A few seconds later, in walked Lucy's 'busy' from the night before. Pale skinny legs protruded from comic book print boxers and equally lean arms jutted out from a white vest top. His dark brown hair was jutting out from every angle, a poster child for 'bed head'. He stopped short when he saw me and stared through black rimmed glasses.

"Em…" he faltered, his face flushing red.

I had to bite down on my lip to stop from giggling.

"I'm looking for the bathroom," he blurted after several moments of agonising silence.

I pointed at the door at the other end of the kitchen. He muttered thanks as he disappeared through the door. By the time he emerged again, I had booted up my laptop and was pouring hot water onto the teabag at the bottom of my cup. Feeling sorry for the poor guy, I held up the steaming kettle. "Can I get you anything?"

He stared at me oddly for a moment. Clearly being offered a hot beverage by the roommate of your booty call was not an interaction he had expected.

"Actually," he replied, rubbing his hands over his bare arms to warm them up, "Have you got coffee?"

I pulled a face and rooted through the cupboard. I never drank the stuff, but there was probably still some of Rob's lying around. After two years of dating, he'd taken both my heart and my dignity when he'd left, but had forgotten to take his jar of Brazillian roast.

"Sugar and milk?"

"Just milk, please," the stranger replied in a typically 'Oxbridge' accent, sliding awkwardly onto one of the breakfast bar stools. I gave it a stir and pushed the cup towards him. "Thanks."

"My names Anna, by the way."

He took a drink, sighed, and cradled the cup close to his chest. His response was a single consonant.

"Q."


	2. Chapter 2

I choked back a laugh. "Is that short for Quinn, Quentin, or something like that?"

He eyed me over the rim of the cup.

"Something like that," he replied noncommittally. What should, for all intent and purpose, have been a painfully awkward silence passed by quite pleasantly as I opened and closed cupboards, constructing my breakfast. The hallway door creaked open and we both turned our heads to look. Lucy stared for a moment and then scrambled into the bathroom like a startled cat. The lock echoed around the room, much louder than I thought possible. Q winced and set his cup down.

"I do believe that is my cue to leave."

"It was nice to meet you," I said as he walked towards the hall. He paused, resting his hand on the frame as he hovered in the doorway.

"You too, Anna. Thanks for the coffee."

The front door slammed shut about 5 minutes later as I was spooning the slowly deteriorating sugary wheat flakes into my mouth. With one hand I shovelled cereal, with the other I checked the news and weather on my laptop. According to the BBC, snow was a possibility. But we all knew how reliable weather men were.

I had just set my empty bowl into the sink as Lucy opened the bathroom door a crack and peered out.

"Is he gone?" she stage whispered.

I rolled my eyes. "Yes. He's gone."

She took what had been his seat at the breakfast bar.

"I'm so sorry to leave you with Jonny or Josh, or whatever it was. I didn't see his stuff in the room and thought he'd already left. He didn't annoy you did he?"

I wondered how much she'd been drinking, or how loud the music had been when they met for her to get Q confused with a J name, but didn't think it was worth mentioning. Maybe he wasn't called either. Maybe he was called both. It didn't matter now anyway.

"No, he was fine actually. Seemed nice enough, and cute too."

"He was. Though, I'm having trouble working out if he's blind without his glasses, or just a bit… well… useless."

We looked at each other for a moment before we dissolved into giggles.

Johnny, or Q, or whatever his name really was, was never brought up in conversation again. That evening after Lucy had finished her lectures and I had caught up with my work, we watched a film. After it had finished, we ended up having one of those deep, long and unprompted conversations where we seemed to cover every imaginable topic. It was almost 3am before we eventually said goodnight.

The next morning it started to snow lightly, and not wishing to trudge through the cold wet stuff, I decided to take another day at home. It was just after Lucy had left for her morning lectures when things started to get, well, a bit strange. I was checking my Twitter feed when suddenly my screen went black. With a sigh, I reached for the restart button, glad that I hadn't actually gotten around to my work yet. Before I reached it though, it flicked back into life. This happened several more times, and I was about to turn it off and check for a loose connection in the screen when my name flashed up onto a blue background.

**ANNA WINTERMAN**

I stared, eyes wide, as the letters danced comically around and then arranged themselves back into the centre. I looked around, half expecting Lucy to jump out from somewhere and laugh at me. I blinked and the letters faded into the blackness to be replaced by a cartoon of a fluttering union jack. My ears where then assaulted by a metallic 8-bit version of 'God save the Queen'. I leaped for the volume button but it wouldn't work. Neither would the power switch. It was as if my laptop had suddenly become sentient and was mocking me. I folded my arms and stepped back, waiting with morbid curiosity to see what would happen next. Once the garish anthem had finished, the flag continued to wave. Underneath it, the dancing letters reappeared, this time saying:

**YOUR COUNTRY NEEDS YOU**

Once I was sure that it wasn't going to do anything else, I closed the lid and slipped it into my backpack. I shared my office with a bunch of IT nerds. Someone was obviously trying to play a game with me and I was determined to find out who. I hastily got dressed and pulled a woollen hat over my uncooperative hair and caught the bus to the campus. Once I got into the office I tried to override the patriotic summons by connecting my laptop to one of the desktop computers and attempted to remote force into safe mode. It failed. Just then John's face popped around the corner.

"Anna! I didn't see you come in. I thought you might have decided to take the day at home."

I snapped the lid shut, not wanting him to see my laptop and ask stupid questions.

"Decided to come in after all," I replied, trying to look busy.

"Fancy grabbing a bite of lunch?"

In all the confusion and weirdness of the morning, I had lost track of time and it had suddenly been too long since breakfast. I didn't  _dislike_  John, but at the same time, I didn't want to give him the wrong impression.

"Alright, but first I need to swing by an ATM."

"Oh don't worry," he said brightly, "My treat!"

I forced myself to look him in the eye. "Thank you, but I'm going to pay for my own lunch, John."

I don't know what a kicked puppy looks like, I've never tried it. But I imagine that they look a lot like how John looked at that moment. I tried to pretend I hadn't noticed as I packed up my stuff and retrieved my coat from the back of my chair.

We walked quickly, our voices muffled behind our scarves. I asked him how his project was going and he answered enthusiastically about what he was working on. We ceased our conversation briefly while I retrieved some money from the cash machine. I prided myself at being at least a decent handler of money. Being a student, surviving on meagre student loans and the odd research grant, I knew exactly what my balance should have been. That's why I knew the figure on the screen couldn't possible belong to me. There was a 1 and a 0 before what I had expected my balance to be. I stared at the green numbers. How could it have confused my card and pin for someone else's? There was some serious security glitch going on. I hit cancel to try again when a green animated union jack flashed up onto the screen. My heart thudded so loud, I was sure that everyone in the street near me could feel the vibrations emanating from my chest.

**YOUR COUNTRY NEEDS YOU ANNA WINTERMAN.**

I snapped my head around to make sure John wasn't looking over my shoulder. Thankfully, he was checking his phone. Fortunately, I and the rest of the crowded street weren't treated to another tinny version of God Save the Queen. The flag faded out and a new message appeared.

**FOLLOW THE ADDRESS ON YOUR LAPTOP IF YOU WANT TO GET USED TO SEEING A SIX FIGURE BALANCE.**

**LUNCH IS ON ME.**

The hatch opened and offered me a bundle of three new £20 notes. In a daze I took the money and shoved it and my bank card into my purse.

Seeing my stunned face, John offered a sympathetic smile. "I get that look when I check my balance too. Student loans suck."

"Yeah," I breathed.

Lunch passed by in a blur. I can't remember anything John and I talked about. If there was a small consolation, it's that my absence from the conversation might have been perceived as just more of my deterrent towards John. When he got up to leave, I stayed seated.

"You not coming?" he asked. I shook my head.

"Just came into the office to pick up a few things. I've, eh, got a family thing later that I've got to be at."

He shrugged his shoulders and smiled. "Sure thing. Thanks for your company! I'll see you tomorrow!" He waved from the café door before venturing back out into the cold. When I was sure he was gone, I retrieved my laptop from my rucksack and placed it on the table. A waitress came over to clear the table and asked if I wanted anything else.

"We've got people waiting for a table," she said when I declined. "If you're not going to order anything else then I'm afraid you can't stay here."

"Fine." I puffed out an annoyed breath and hastily put on my coat, scarf and gloves. I balanced the laptop in one hand and stumbled back out onto the street. On my laptop screen, under the still unchanged flapping flag was an address. I typed it into my phone and the lightning speed of 4G pinpointed the location. Strictly speaking, no-one was supposed to have 4G yet. It was a private network, due for release at the end of this year but I had, shall we say, acquired the right codes for it and performed a few 'upgrades' to my phone. I hopped on the tube until I reached Farringdon station. I followed the pin on my map until I was standing outside what looked like a delivery entrance for the next door restaurant. I paced up and down for a while, sure that I was looking for a computer repair shop with some nut job who had decided to target my IP.

Finally I swallowed the lump in my throat and pressed the intercom.

"Hello?" a crackled voice asked from the small speaker.

"Hi. I'm Anna Winterman. I might have the wrong address but I think there might be someone here who can fix my laptop?"

The intercom clicked off. I waited as the moments dragged by. Just as I was about to give up, the hatch opened and a middle aged man appeared.

"Come on in, Anna. Sorry for keeping you."

All of a sudden the memory of the time before I moved to London when Mum had offered to buy me a rape alarm flashed across my mind. I thanked my brain for that encouraging thought as I ducked through the door. The closed off alley was brick and there was no-one else except the doorman. My sense of self-preservation kicked in and suddenly I just wanted to get out.

"Actually, I've changed my mind. I need a new laptop anyway."

I turned to leave and bumped straight into him.

"It's okay Anna, you're safe." He flashed a Metropolitan police badge which did the exact opposite of calm me. This had something to do with my hacking. Panic crawled up into my throat. Apart from the 4G thing I hadn't done anything illegal recently. Reading my expression he added, "And you're not in trouble either."

He gestured for me to follow him, and with no other choice. I did. Instead of going into one of the buildings either side we carried on down the alley that was lit by overhead fluorescents. We turned a corner and came across a door guarded by two uniformed policemen. My escort punched in a code and the door clicked open. Through the door, instead of going up, we descended a metal stair case.

"Where  _are_  we?" I asked with a mix of awe and fear in my voice as the scene erupted in front of me. Below us, getting closer the further down we climbed was a big and brightly lit office spread out in a cavernous space that reminded me of some of the older tube stations.

"Just some overflow government offices. Mostly just admin."

"What does any of this have to do with my laptop," I asked, only slightly comforted by the fact that any violence would now have a list of witnesses. My words were either drowned out by the rattle of our steps, or he chose not to answer. At the bottom of the stairs, the policeman gestured to a table.

"I'm afraid I have to search your bag. It'll only take a minute."

I shrugged it off my shoulder and handed it to him. He briefly rummaged through the pockets, then waved one of those metal detector wands over me. When it didn't beep, he handed me back the rucksack with a smile.

"You're good to go. See those arches with the glass fronts, you'll find what you're looking for in the third arch. Good luck."

I stood there for a moment, getting accustomed to my surroundings before I walked down through the desks. I half expected everyone to stare at me, but they all carried on working away like I wasn't even there. Making my way slowly to the third cavern I looked inside. It was just more people at more desks, with a bank of computer screens at the far end. I knocked quietly on the door. Either no-one heard me, or manners were scarce. I let myself in. The woman at the first desk looked up, smiled, and pointed at the top desk. Had I missed the e-mail? Why did everyone except me seem to know what was going on? I walked towards the far side of the room. A figure in a pale blue cardigan stood with his slim back to me, stirring a mug that was sat on the desk in front of him.

"Excuse me?"

He turned around and my jaw dropped a good inch.

"It's nice to see you again, Anna," Q said with a smile.


	3. Chapter 3

"What are you doing here?" It was a ridiculous question I admit, considering it was me who was out of place. 

"This is where I work," he replied, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"So you're the one who's been fucking with my laptop?" I demanded, too angry to care about what I said. 

"Ah, yes. Sorry about the theatrics. I was trying out a new programme we recently… um… acquired," he took a sip from a mug that bared his initial and then indicated to a seat beside his desk. "Please, Anna, take a seat."

"I'm fine standing," I replied, folding my arms across my chest. Q leant back against the edge of his desk.

"Anna, you've got a special skill set that is very appealing to us. We've been watching you for a while now."

"Who is 'we'?" I asked feeling like I was teetering on some sort of edge. Who were these people and why did they seem to know so much about me? My confusion was mounting. It felt like I'd been dropped into the middle of a dream where nothing made sense, but everyone just went with it regardless. 

"You're standing in some of the offices of the SIS," he continued, "that is, Secret Intelligent Service, more commonly referred to as MI6. We're the branch of the government that deals with international affairs. You're very gifted with computers, Anna, and we want to enlist you into our services," he paused to take another sip then added, "if you think it would interest you that is."

He might as well have been talking Latin because nothing was getting through to me.

"I just came to get your stupid bug out of my laptop," I replied, unable to hide the exasperation in my voice.

He set down his mug and then gave a small patronising sigh. "Perhaps I'm not going about this quite right. Q, as you might have guessed, is not my name. My full title here is Quartermaster, and broadly speaking I'm in charge of the technological supplies of MI6. As a safety precaution, those in charge of sections don't use their own names, hence Q. One of the things we do is we infiltrate the online networks of organizations that we think might be of a threat to the safety of Great Britain and Northern Ireland. You're very good at hacking, Anna. Not as good as us obviously, otherwise we wouldn't have been able to notice you, but very impressive nonetheless."

"So you bugged my laptop to offer me a job?" My tone was acidic but I didn't care. My ego had been bruised. No-one had hacked me before. "Most people just send an e-mail."

He gave a small chuckle. "We also needed to make sure you were resourceful and pro-active. There are plenty of people out there clever enough to hack, but most of them have the social limitations that can come with a high level of intellect."

All of a sudden, just as I thought I was getting it, I remembered how we had first met, and nothing made sense again. "So what has any of this got to do with Lucy? Why were you in our  _house_?"

"Lovely girl," he responded with a wistful smile, "Yes, well, when I tried to install the program from here I came up against a few problems. You have a very impressive firewall. I realised that the only way was to get to your computer and install it manually. I knew you'd be less suspicious of me if I was a guest of someone else in your place of residence. The rest was, well, a pleasant side-effect."

I saw red. My confusion had made me frustrated, but now with the revelation that this posh brat had effectively used my friend pushed me over the edge. My fury bubbled over and raced into my arm. I threw my hand up to slap him across the face but something grabbed my wrist before I could follow through. I whirled to see who had stopped me. The man was tall, somewhere between early and mid-forties. He had sand coloured hair and pale blue eyes. He might have been handsome, but there was something cold and hard about his face. He placed my arm gently at my side and then turned his smirk to the Quartermaster.

"I see you're making new friends, Q." Q's face remained stoic in the face of both my attempt at violence and the newcomers teasing. "M said you had a few things for me."

"Of course. Anna, would you excuse me for a moment. Right this way, 007."

The system of names sounded like a ridiculous mix of Scrabble and Sudoku. I mashed my lips together as I breathed deeply trying to calm myself. I felt like a mouse being tormented by a vindictive cat. This was all a game to them and I didn't particularly like being a pawn. I was sure Q was deliberately giving me the minimum information just so he could laugh behind his mug at my confusion. He knew how intelligent he was, and he wielded it like a weapon. The newcomer and he had their heads bent over a brief case with their backs to me, muttering quietly. After a while, the case snapped shut and they parted company.

"Oh, and before I forget…" The one called 007 reached into his suit pocket and tossed a small paper bag at Q who fumbled, but managed to catch it. He opened the crumpled top, smirked, and then closed it again and set it on the edge of his desk. Misjudging where he'd set it the packet tumbled to the floor. A small blue and white plastic bottle skidded out of the bag and stopped at my feet. Automatically I picked it up. It was a bottle of SpotsAway face wash. I placed it into Q's proffered hand.

"007 fancies himself a comedian, but is sadly deluded." He shut the offending bottle into the top drawer of his desk. I could only guess that this 'double-oh seven', was taunting the Quartermaster about his youth. He had one of those impossible faces where he could be anywhere between 25 and 35 years old. "Now where were we?"

"I was in the process of giving you a well deserved slap."

"I do wish you wouldn't."

"Who do you think you are," I raged, not caring that how I appeared to everyone else in the office, "that you  _use_  my friend and then have the nerve to call her a 'pleasant side-effect'?"

"I think we were consenting adults and that we both entered into a mutually beneficial agreement. No numbers were exchanged, no promises made. Now, I know my personal skills can sometimes be poor, but I don't think she was particularly happy to see me in the morning. I'm pretty safe in the assumption that she did not yearn for me in my absence." He took another gulp from his cup to cover his smile, but failed to hide the smug look from his green eyes that watched me over the rim of his glasses.

I don't know which was more annoying; his smirk, his 'force-fed-a-thesaurus-as-a-child' way of talking, or, the fact that he had a point. Angrily, I unzipped my rucksack and brought out my laptop.

"Just fix it."

He set down his mug, took the computer from me and placed it on his desk. He ran a slender finger along the side with the USB ports. He stopped, and pried off a piece of the plastic casing. A squeak of outrage leapt from my throat as I watched in horror, certain that he was going to pull my laptop to pieces. He dropped the piece into my hand and I looked at it closely. It was the metal part of a USB stick with a flat back that matched the laptop case so when it was inserted, it completely concealed the port. I hadn't even noticed I was one USB short, although that was probably the whole point.

"You got past my firewall…with a USB stick?" I asked, trying not to let him hear the disbelief in my voice.

"It's amazing how the simplest things can be the most effective."

I raised a sceptical eyebrow. "My laptop is back to normal now?"

"You're welcome to check," he gestured.

I brushed past him and booted it up. The stupid animated flag was gone and my laptop appeared to be running normally. But I knew that he'd probably hidden some surveillance software in the hard drive somewhere. When I got it home I'd run a full diagnostic. I returned my laptop to my rucksack.

"Now, about our offer?" Q prompted.

"You want me to work for you?" I enquired hesitantly.

"Not immediately. We need assistance in an operation. We need someone to go undercover. Inexperience is desirable to avoid detection. It would involve you moving the location of your doctorate for the next few months. Unfortunately that's all I can tell you until you agree to it."

My interest was piqued, but I was still wary. Everything was moving too fast and I wasn't sure if I liked it or not. Where would I be moving to? What would I do about my flat here? How would I pay for it all? And then I remembered about those glorious six figures on the ATM. "And what about the money."

"That all depends on you," he mused, "If you agree, then it's yours. If not, it'll be withdrawn from your account. If you decide to stay with our organisation then there will be more where that came from."

"I'll need some time to think about it," was my cautious response.

He gave a curt nod. "I would have thought you hasty not to. You have until the end of the week. Ideally we would give you longer, but it's a very time sensitive issue and should you decline we would need to look for an alternative."

I nodded my head to show that I understood. "Do I just go back out the way I came in?"

"Oh! Yes." He walked with me to the glass door at the far end of the room and held it open for me.

However angry at being confused and having my laptop violated I was, I was still brought up to be polite. "Thank you," I mumbled. I was a few steps away when a thought crossed my mind. I turned to see him leaning against the door frame, watching me. "When I decide, how do I contact you?"

He smiled knowingly and brought the cup to his lips again, then lowered it without taking a drink. "You're a resourceful woman, Anna Winterman, I'm sure you'll find a way." With that, he turned and went back into the office and let the glass door swing closed behind him.

When I got home I opened my laptop intent on doing that full diagnostic. However, instead of working I stared at desktop background and thought about Q's offer.

For a moment, I watched Lucy making herself dinner, bobbing around the kitchen to some tune being pumped through her earphones. She had everything planned out in front of her and was progressing through it all as easy as a breeze through bare branches. Me? I was stuck in a cycle of rinse and repeat. I was nearly finished my second degree with nothing on the horizon. Except this 'job' or whatever it was that Q had offered. Throughout my life I was always the one to make the decisions. Mum had wanted me to go to either of the Oxbridge Universities. My grades were certainly good enough, but I wanted to do my own thing. I wanted the hustle and bustle of London, so I went and took it with both hands. Heck, I didn't even let Lucy order the online grocery delivery without my approval, regardless of the fact that we ordered the same stuff nearly every week. But, now I wanted someone else to do this for me. I wanted some celestial figure to appear beside me and say, "This is what you're going to do." However, all the angels were far too busy with problems more important than mine. I thought back to those the ATM screen. I had never dreamt of possessing so much money at my age. There was so much that I could do with it. For a start, I wouldn't have to worry about all the student loans that had been quietly mounting up beside me. The money would also mean so much to Mum and my brother Michael. I could solve so many of their problems. It was then that I realised that this decision was so much bigger than just me, and it became the easiest choice in the world to make.

It would have been completely naïve of me to think that simply removing the USB would have meant my computer was Q-proof. I opened up notepad and typed a single sentence that I knew was going to change my life, for better or worse.

**What do you want me to do?**

I walked away, leaving my laptop on the coffee table while I made myself a cup of hot chocolate to try and stop the shaking that was a by-product of my metaphorical leap of faith. When I got back to my laptop, I already had an answer.

**Come back tomorrow and I will explain everything. – Q**

I set down my mug and ran my fingers over the keyboard. I was still mad at having been put under their microscope and prodded like a lab rat. I wanted to have the last say. It wasn't elegant, but I think it got my point across.

**Now get the fuck out of my computer, you nosey little prick.**


	4. Chapter 4

"Is your internet correspondence always so poetic?" Q greeted me the next morning with that same smug little smile. I pulled out the spare chair and sat down without being asked.

"So, what do you want me to do?"

He smiled triumphantly, and this time it seemed genuine. There was no hint of a smirk. "Would you like a drink before we begin? Perhaps some tea? I have some wonderful Earl Grey from this quaint little tea shop in Covenant garden."

I shook my head. "No." Then added quickly, "Thank you, but I'd rather just get briefed, or whatever it is you call it."

"Very well." He pulled out his desk chair and sat down. "There is a University in Switzerland. It's called the Eiger Institution."

"I've heard of that!" I blurted, "It's got a great a great reputation for software development and engineering."

"Indeed. But recently, in the last five years or so, they've slowly began to expand into medical engineering with a focus on Nano-medicine. That's medicine at a…"

"I know what Nano means."

"Of course. In the past we have sent students that excelled in the fields of computer science and engineering. We paid for them to attend the Eiger with the assurance that we would be the ones to benefit from their excellent programmes. However, we seem to have encountered a problem. A few of the student that we had given scholarships to have disappeared over the last few years. We had even planned to approach you when you were an undergraduate and offer to send you there, but that's when the disappearances started to occur and we thought it best not to risk it."

"Wait, so you've known about this for years and haven't done anything?"

"We couldn't. We had no proof that anything suspect was going on. For all we knew in those early stages those few could have just been an unreported skiing accident, or they'd run off with a romantic partner. Then when we realised that it wasn't any of those things, we couldn't risk letting them know we were onto them. What we are asking you to do, Anna, is to attend the Eiger for a few months to finish your doctorate. While you're there you'll report any suspicious activity to us. We'll pay for your accommodation and travel on top of what you've already been paid. This should involve the minimum effort, and therefore carries the minimum risk."

I took a long and deep breath, letting Q's words sink in. He watched me over the brim of his mug, waiting to see how I was going to react. "Why can't you use one of the students you've already got there?"

"Ah. Well, the students that we sponsor don't know that it's us. If it was public knowledge that the SIS wanted these particular individuals it would make them a target for other international agencies."

I connected the dots. "So you think that someone has found out that you've got a special interest in these students, and they're stealing them from under your nose?"

"That's the most likely explanation," he conceded with a nod.

"So, do I just walk in and ask them to give me a place? How's that going to work?"

"Oh, you've already got a place. You applied several months ago."

I narrowed my eyes, trying to repress a shudder. "Have you got any idea how uncomfortable that makes me feel? That you've been planning this out for me without my consent for  _months_? I mean, what were you going to do if I had said no?"

"You would have had a family tragedy that required you to stay in the country." That hit too close to the bone. I felt a vicious sting and decided to change the subject rather than delve into the murky and seemingly bottomless pit of MI6's morals.

"Do I have to sign any forms? Attend a health and safety briefing?" The last bit made him chuckle a bit. It had a strangely pleasant effect on his oh-so-serious face.

"Nothing like that you'll be pleased to hear. However, in the unlikely event that something should go wrong, it does also mean that MI6 will wash their hands of you. That's the downside to not being an official operative."

"So that's it then? I just go home and pack? When's my flight?"

"We catch the Eurostar from St. Pancreas station. Next Saturday, just after noon. But first..."

"Wait, we? And, train?"

Q sighed in that irritable way that made me feel like a small child again. The annoyance prickled at my spine. "We; because I shall be accompanying you. It's a small operation, requiring small delicate surveillance equipment which I cannot manage from here. Train; because I don't fly."

Great. I was going to have the thesaurus for a travelling companion. "Who's going to do your job here?"

"I have a deputy that is more than qualified to handle things in my absence."

"And I suppose he's called R?"

"As a matter of fact  _she_  is. But before any of that, there's someone who would like to meet you. The head of MI6 no less. He's known as M."

"Are you going to give me a letter?"

He looked over at me and gave an almost imperceptible raise to his left eyebrow. "Now that would just be silly." 

 

M stood up from his desk and adjusted his suit before offering out his hand to shake. He had a very strong nose, and eyes that I couldn't quite read. If he was a character in a story, he could as easily be the villain as the hero. As he spoke, even his accent was hard to place.

"Miss Winterman, it's a pleasure. I can't tell you how pleased we are to have you on board. I take it that Q has fully briefed you on the situation?"

"Yes, Sir."  
Q had told me while we were waiting in the office, in front M's stunningly beautiful secretary, that 'it would be best' if I called him Sir.

"Good. Well, Anna, from what I hear from our Quartermaster, you'll make a valuable addition to our team. Consider your brief residence in Switzerland as an extended period of interview, with the certainty of a job once it's over. Unless that is," he added with a small smile, "you end up dead."

I was about sixty per cent sure that it was meant as a joke, but the arrangement of M's facial features made it seem almost equally likely to be a warning. There was also the added factor that if I did die in a freak accident, like slipping on a patch of ice and breaking my neck, they probably wouldn't bat an eyelid.

The intercom on M's desk buzzed and his secretary spoke. "Sorry to interrupt Sir, but I have Mark on line 1."

M leaned forward, pressing the response button. "Thank you Moneypenny." He looked up at Q and I, and smiled again in that same slightly disarming way. "You must excuse me. It's my better half. A very serious case of man flu the only remedy for which I'm told is a dose of sympathy every few hours, apparently." He picked up the phone, then, held the receiver to his chest. "Miss Winterman, Q, good luck."

 

Lucy lay on the bed beside my suitcase, watching me pack.

"How long did you say you'd be away for?" she asked in a voice that was tipped with concern. I deliberately didn't look at her for fear that I would become upset. My emotions were all over the place between excitement and trepidation.

"A few months. I think it's a flexible placement. At the very latest it'll be the summer."

"This is going to sound really bad but… what about this place? Like… your rent?"

I placed a pile of folded t-shirts into the case. "Don't worry about all that. They knew that I would probably have accommodation back here that I was contracted to, so they're going to pay for my accommodation here and over there."

"Wow. That's nice of them." Lucy seemed a little relieved at not having to suddenly double her rent.

"They just want to take credit when I publish my thesis," I laughed, partly enjoying making this up as I went along. Maybe I was cut out for this secret agent thing after all. Lucy rolled off the bed and disappeared. A moment later, she reappeared, clutching a stuffed toy rabbit.

"Frankie's never been to Switzerland," she said hiding her face behind its synthetic fur. Then she set the toy into a gap in my case between two piles of clothes. "He's kept me safe for twenty years, I'm sure he can look after you too." I looked at her to see her big blue doe eyes were slightly wet.

"Oh, God," I said throwing my arms around her, "Don't be so silly. You're acting like I'm going away forever."

"I know but, we've lived together for two years. The longest we've been apart was the time I was a counsellor at Camp America for six weeks!"

"Just think," I laughed, releasing her, "With me gone you can have really noisy sex anywhere in the house."

She laughed and brushed the moisture away from under her eyes. Then, looking up at me through a clump of eyelashes she said, "I might just do that."

We lasted about two beats, then dissolved into helpless giggles.

 

I caught the train back to Devon to see Mum and Michael before I left for Switzerland. She was waiting for me in the car park, waving a little handmade Swiss flag of paper taped to a kebab skewer.

"It was the best I could do at short notice," she laughed, eveloping me in a hug.

We drove straight to see Michael. When we pulled up into the car parking space I got out first, leaving mum to get the new set of pyjamas from the boot of the car. The nurse at the font desk looked up at me and smiled warmly.

"Anna! Michael will be so pleased to see you. Is your mother here too?"

"Yeah, she's just getting stuff from the car. Where is he?"

"He's watching TV with some of the others."

I walked the familiar hall to the end, into the large, warm, comfortable lounge. There was a large TV on the wall, with a semi-circle of mismatched armchairs and two-seaters facing it. I spotted Michael, his eyes watching the screen intently. A nurse that was seated beside him looked up at me.

"Michael, look who's here," she said, pointing in my direction.

My brother looked up and his face broke into a lopsided grin. He threw his hands up in the air and waved them about. He gave an excited two syllable grunt, about the closest thing to Anna that he could manage. An elderly woman that I'd never seen before at the other end of the room threw up her frail arms and gave a whoop of delight to rival Michaels. I laughed, amused that I'd caused such a fuss. The nurse got up and let me take the seat on the couch beside him. He wrapped his arms around me from the side, put his head on my shoulder and continued watching TV.

Michael was my older brother, about a month away from his twenty seventh birthday. The accident had happened about three years ago. He'd been out drinking with friends to celebrate, something important I guess, and had been stupid enough to get into the driving seat after. If there was any silver lining to be had, is that the only other casualty had been the tree he'd tried to embrace at high speed. There were broken bones, and broken branches, but the worst had been the knock to his head. He'd been in a coma for six weeks, and when he finally emerged, he seemed almost himself and we thought that he was going to be one of those medical miracles that get their own documentary on reality TV. That was until the strokes started. An inoperable haemorrhage on his brain was causing them, and we were told that he'd continue to have the strokes, and probably would die within a few months. With me at University, Mum couldn't cope with all of Michaels needs on her own and had to put him into a specialist home. Despite his odds, he was still here. Every six months or so he would have another of his strokes, we'd prepare ourselves for the worst, only to have him bounce back.

Mum came in a few minutes later and sat on the arm of the couch to the other side of him and we watched one of the generic afternoon quiz shows. When it was finished Michael let go of me and stood up shakily. With hands that were bent oddly due to uncooperative muscles, he led both Mum and I over to a wall of paintings. Some looked like children's paintings while others from the more competent patients actually were quite good. Without letting go of my hand, he gestured to a piece of paper that was just blobs and strokes of paint on a white page. He began to issue a string of differently pitched grunts. While he was explaining his artistic inspiration, I looked up into his face and wondered what it was like to be him. Was the Michael that I had grown up with still in there, imprisoned inside a body that no longer obeyed him? Or was he just a grown up with the mind of an infant? Either way, he was just a body and a brain made up of a lot of broken circuits.

We couldn't stay more than an hour and a half. The residential home was very supportive, but the patients needed to stay in a strict routine otherwise some would get very confused, anxious and some even destructive. About half a mile down the road, I turned to ask mum a question. However I stopped when I saw the fresh tracks of tears running down her face. I turned back to look out the window and we continued our journey in silence.

Did it make me a bad person that I'd stopped crying after each visit? Was it normal to get used to something like this? I wasn't sure. I did sometimes wish that the next stroke would be his last. At least then we'd finally get some closure and grieve properly. It crossed my mind that I should turn down the Switzerland thing. What if something went wrong? How would mum possibly be able to cope with losing her husband and both her children? I shook the thought from my head. Q had practically promised there'd be no danger. I was just a pair of eyes to let them know where to send the big guns. Besides, the money was too much of an incentive.

When mum and I were washing the dishes after dinner, I decided to tell her part of the story.

"You know I'm getting paid to go to the Eiger University?"

"Yes, you mentioned it on the phone," she mused, rubbing suds into a plate.

"Well, there's… more than I need, and I know how much you want to have more time to spend with Michael, and I want to help."

The plate clattered to the bottom of the sink as it slipped out of mum's hand. "Oh, sweetheart," she cried, turning to face me, "You don't have to worry about me. You keep your money for all your student loans."

I wasn't about to give up that easily. "Mum. Please. I want you to take a holiday, even if it's only for a week. And I'll pay for it."

She smiled weakly, then, threw her hands around me, dripping soapy water all down the back of my t-shirt. "Thank you."

We watched Moulin Rouge that night and polished off a bottle of red wine between us. The alcohol made me sleepy, which was for the best. The knowledge that in just two days I'd be in Switzerland was making me as excited as a child on Christmas Eve.


	5. Chapter 5

On Saturday morning, I arrived just after 11am at St. Pancreas station, having spent the morning packing my boxes and suitcases into the removal van. It would travel by road and arrive at the University the day after us. It meant that I only had to carry enough for an overnight stay. It would take us approx. 9 hours by train to get to Berne, the nearest station in Switzerland to the Eiger University. We'd stay the night in a hotel there and drive the last bit to the University. By that time the van should have caught up with us and I would have the whole of Sunday to settle in. My induction was on Monday.

Q was already there, waiting, his laptop bag in hand and a small carry-all. I presumed he had also sent his bulkier luggage in the same van that had picked up my things.

"Morning," I said conversationally. He nodded in response, sipping on one of those vender cups. He wrinkled his nose as he swallowed. "Everything okay?" I asked sceptically.

"I dislike tea that is not properly made."

"Why not get coffee? It's usually a bit better than the tea from those palaces."

"I detest coffee."

I did a double take. "But, when you were at my house that morning, you asked for coffee?"

He sighed. "I could see that you were already making tea, and I needed something to make you to turn around while I placed the bug in your laptop. The fact that I managed to take a few sips of that vile concoction should earn me some kind of award."

"God, do you have no shame?" I muttered irritably.

"For the love of Queen and country? No."

We boarded the Eurostar just before noon, and sat down at two seats that faced each other over a small table. At least there was some benefit to travelling as an unofficial agent of MI6; Business class. Q opened up his case and took out a copy of the Guardian and New Scientist.

"You know," I said, retrieving my laptop from my rucksack, "they have those online now. I'm sure the train has WiFi."

"Why do people always assume that technology and tradition have to be mutually exclusive," he replied as he unfolded and disappeared behind the newspaper.

"Suit yourself." I muttered as I pulled out the portable mouse and my earphones and settled into several hours of zombie carnage. The entire journey from London to Paris passed in a blur of scattered blood and brains. As the announcement that we would be arriving shortly in Gare du Nord, the station in Paris, went out over the speaker, I saved my progress and closed down my laptop. I looked over at Q who had stopped reading and was also working at his laptop. Just then, he looked up.

"I don't usually like gratuitous violence, but watching you play that game was rather entertaining."

"You're still hacking my computer!" I hissed and grabbed his laptop, spinning it around to see the screen. It was a text document, a quick glance told me it was a report to M with schematics for a gun. My cheeks burned. Embarrassed that I hadn't caught him red handed, I pushed it back over to his side of the table.

"Has anyone ever told you, Anna, that you're very quick to jump to conclusions. If you must know, I saw you playing the game earlier when I went up to use the restroom."

I mashed my lips into a tight line and muttered an apology. When provoked, my temper had a very short fuse. The upside was that as quick as I got angry, I could become calm again in a very short space of time. Something about Q told me that he was the opposite. It would take a lot of pushing to get him mad, but I had my suspicions that once he was angered, he would either explode, or hold a lengthy grudge.

At the station in the gap between one train and the next we ate a late lunch. Q tucked into a toasted chicken and bacon bagel while I had personal sized three cheese pizza. I had thought when he announced that he would be coming too that he'd be a constant annoyance with his larger than average vocabulary and superiority complex. However, I wasn't sure that we had engaged in a proper conversation all day.

I swallowed a mouthful of pizza crust and dusted off my fingers. "So, if I'm not allowed to know your real name for 'confidentiality' reasons, then what am I allowed to know?"

"Depends on what you're interested in knowing."

"Like, do you have any brothers and sisters?" I suggested.

"I have two older brothers."

He ended the sentence like he had no intention of continuing. I could tell that it would take more than that to coax this social hermit out of the safety of his own personal shell. "You know, this is usually the part where you ask me about my family. This conversation business is a two way process."

"Father, John, deceased, North tower of the World Trade centre September 11th 2001. Mother, Helen, works full time for Jackson and Sons Solicitors in your hometown of Teignmouth," he spoke monotonously, like he was reading out a shopping list, "You have an elder brother Michael who's in a residential home outside of Taunton due to mental -"

"Stop!"

He looked up from his bagel, his eyebrows slightly creased in a look of mild confusion. "What?"

"Normal people find that sort of stuff out by asking, not by memorising their files on government databases."

"If I wasn't thorough in my background checks then I wouldn't be very good at my job," he shot back frostily. I stood up abruptly, causing the chair underneath me to give a noisy squeal as it scraped across the floor. Without giving an excuse I stormed off to the bathroom. When I got there I ran the tap and splashed some cold water onto my face and dabbed the excess moisture away with a hand towel, careful not to touch my eyes. The only item of makeup that I regularly wore was waterproof mascara, but even it wasn't that reliable. I calmed myself by fixing my hair. It was a dirty sand colour that walked the line between brunette and blonde. It was so stubbornly straight that I'd never needed to use a flat iron in my life.

I went back out a few minutes later and sat down. There were a few moments of awkward silence. Surprisingly, he was the first to break it.

"I apologise if my prior knowledge of your personal details makes you feel uncomfortable. It is protocol to thoroughly research someone and their surrounding friends and family before they are allowed to be associated with the SIS."

I nodded. "I understand, but it still freaks me out."

The next train was longer. It would take approximately 5 hours to get to Berne. Again, we rode business class. I was about to set up my game again when Q pushed a box across the table towards me. It had the distinctive navy colour with gold trim that looked like a jewellery box. I raised a sceptical eyebrow.

"What's this?"

"Open it and see," he replied with a knowing smile that made me feel a bit nervous. Cautiously, like something was going to jump out at me, I opened it. Inside were two stud earrings with imitation diamond stone in the centre. There was also a fleshy bit of plastic that looked like a very small hearing aid.

"Um, thanks?" I tried, still baffled by the gift.

"The earrings have microphones in them, and that's an earpiece. It's so that you can be in constant communication with me should anything suspicious occur."

Intrigued, I exchanged the small silver butterflies that were my 'default' earrings, and put in Q's microphone earrings. Then I tried to insert the listener, but whatever way I tried, I just couldn't seem to get it to sit in my ear canal.

"It doesn't fit," I declared, putting it back into the box sulkily.

Q gave one of his little sighs. "Of course it will, you're just putting it in wrong. Give it to me." He took it out of the box again and leant right across the table. I didn't quite realise what he was doing until he was right in my face. With his fingers, he pushed back my hair and tucked it behind my ear. His wrist felt hot beside my face as he gently pushed in the earpiece. Then he sat back down. "There. I told you it would fit."

I was too bewildered and all my snappy responses came far too late to be used. "Thanks," I mumbled. Any other person would have asked permission to get that close. But then again, Q wasn't any person. He was just that little bit too close to genius for comfort. Too much of his brain was taken up by knowledge, leaving less room for social do's and don'ts. I shook it off as nothing, for that's what it was.

An hour into the journey, the Zombie game ran its course. In fact, I couldn't stick at any of the games in my library for more than a few minutes. I was getting restless and bored. With a heavy sigh, I closed the lid of my laptop and stared out the window as city lights flashed by. It was dark outside, and after a while my eyelids began to feel uncomfortably heavy.

The next thing I knew there was a loud banging. The zombies were at the door, hammering their undead fists against it. Lucy was there, her seventeen year old sister Kate, John, Q, and me. I pumped the shotgun in my hands, preparing myself for the attack. It was impossible to guess how many were out there. Lucy was wielding a blood covered cricket bat, while Kate stood behind her for safety. Q had an automatic rifle while John sported one of those emergency fire axes. All of a sudden the hinges of the door separating us splintered and the hoard came crashing in on us. The noise of zombie screams and gun fire was deafening. Two of them went flying at me. My first shot hit home. One minute the zombie had a head, and then it didn't. I pumped and fired again, clipping the second on the side of the head, so that half the face disappeared. Two shots down, four left before I'd have to reload. A girlish scream erupted from the other side of the room. I looked over to see Lucy and Kate struggling against 4 of them, Lucy swinging her bat wildly. It cracked one on the side of the head, and it deflated like a balloon. But there was still three clambering over each other to get to them.

"Duck!" I yelled. They both hit the floor and I emptied my shots in that direction. The Zed's went down one by one. Empty, I opened the barrel and started putting in more shells. I turned to answer a warning shout when I found one almost on me. I thrust the gun sideways and wrestled against the monster who snarled and snapped at me, as it too pushed against the gun. I took a step back, but lost my footing on some blood or gore and we both went crashing to the ground. The fall winded me and all I could think of as I pushed it away with all my might was, this is how I die. Slowly, the muscles in my arms began to give way and the decaying face with holes for sockets got closer and closer gnashing brown chipped teeth. My heart was pounding, like it somehow knew it would be no longer needed, and it wanted to get in all the use it could while it still had the chance.

Three quick, precise shots rang out and the zombie that had me pinned suddenly went limp and splattered my face with blood. I shoved it off me and just lay there, coming to terms with my near death. Q's worried face appeared in my line of vision. The rifle looked wrong in his hands, but nevertheless, he had been the one to save me. He pulled me to my feet and I looked around the room. John, brought down his axe into the zombie that was crawling its way across the floor. The thing went limp and I noticed it was the last one. After being so noisy, the silence was alarming.

Q grabbed my shoulder. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, thanks to you."

He pushed back my blood-stained hair and tucked it behind my ear in a way that was strangely familiar. His hand rested on the side of my neck and I looked up into his face. I was so relieved and grateful that he'd saved my life. The urge to kiss him was sudden and overwhelming. So I did. He was warm and soft, and it felt so completely right.

"Anna!" he called, which was weird, because how could he say my name if he was kissing me?

"Anna!"

I opened my eyes, completely disorientated. Q was pulling on the sleeve of my cardigan and asking me something.

"What?"

"Do you want something?" he pointed at the impatient looking server who was standing beside us, holding menus of everything Business Class had to offer. "This is probably the last chance you'll get to eat today."

Bleary eyed, I took one from her and forced myself to look at it, instead of Q. Part of me felt deflated, and I couldn't understand why. It wasn't like I had ever considered him in that way before, but now it seemed to be the only thing I could think of. That was when my self-preservation methods kicked in and I began to think of every reason why we would be the worst matched pair in history. For a start, he would get on my nerves too often for anything lasting. He was probably one of these types that were married to his work. He might even be gay. The figure was 1 in 15 or something like that. It didn't take much reasoning before I convinced myself out of all residing dream-Q affection, and I felt like some form of balance had been restored.

The last few hours of the journey passed by slowly as I drifted in and out of sleep. Thankfully, there were no more zombies, or Q kissing dreams. By the time we got to Berne it was shortly after 10pm local time, but my body was registering 11pm UK time. The night was below freezing, and the cold pierced through all my layers. On top of that I was stiff and sore from sitting too long. I could feel my mood get darker, and I knew that soon I would become very unpleasant person to be around. Q led the way to the hotel, which was only a few streets over from the station.

"John Smith and Anna Winterman," he announced at the desk. I rolled my eyes at his choice of fake name.

The middle aged woman at reception took a key card from the board behind her and placed it on the counter. "Double room, yes?"

Q's face blanched and I could feel my cheeks start to burn. I hadn't even considered that we might have been sharing.

"No, no… no…" he stammered, while still trying to remain polite, "Two rooms."

The receptionist shook her head, "Double."

"When I made the booking I'm certain that I specified that it was two separate…"

The receptionist tapped the card. "There is the winter festival. We just have the one left. It's two single beds together. If you are in a fight, you can push them apart."

Q turned to me and it was so strange to see him in a situation where he was uncomfortable. "I'm so sorry Anna, if you want I can look for another hotel…"

"Do you snore?" I snapped, too tired and travel worn to really care.

"Not to my knowledge, but-"

"Then we'll push the beds apart." I grabbed the key off the counter before he could argue and followed the signs to the room number. The room was small, but warm, and the receptionist had been right. The two beds were made up separately, and they could just be pulled apart. I dumped my bag onto the left hand bed, grabbed my washing up bag and my pyjamas and went into the bathroom. By the time I was done, Q had separated the beds and put one of the bedside tables in between them, like he was afraid they would try to re-join during the night. Sleepily, I pushed my bags onto the floor and crawled under the sheets, muttering something that sounded like goodnight.

I heard Q moving around the room, but didn't pay much attention. Not too long later, the light on his side of room went off. Sleep came almost instantly after.

It felt like I hadn't closed my eyes for more than a second before Q's shout hauled me mercilessly from my sleep.


	6. Chapter 6

I fumbled for the light switch. Through the panic, it seemed to take forever to find. When it finally clicked and light flooded the room I looked around to see what had caused Q to shout. He was sitting up in bed, his head between his knees.

"What's wrong?" I croaked, my voice hoarse from sleep. He held out his hand, in a silent gesture that was asking me to wait. So I did. In the quiet I could hear him muttering. Under his breath he was counting, slowly, up to twenty. I don't think I took a breath the entire time. When he'd finished, he took a deep breath in, and then let it out slowly. He lifted his head and turned it to me and my heart fell into the bottom of my chest. Without his glasses, he looked completely different, but that wasn't what shocked me. It was that he looked so unbearably tired and ill.

"I'm so sorry I woke you Anna."

"What happened?" I persisted, too confused and concerned to be annoyed.

He ran a hand through his dishevelled black hair. "I occasionally suffer from… bouts of uncontrollable anxiety. I assume that the unfamiliar location triggered it."

In plain English, he'd had a panic attack. I wanted to do something to help, but didn't know what. I guessed that you were supposed to comfort people in this situation, but didn't know if in our limited acquaintance he would find it more stressful than supportive. For a brief few moments, I battled with the impulse to put a hand on his arm. Then I swallowed my reserves and did just that.

"Is there anything I can do?" I asked, hoping that if my gesture had made him more uncomfortable, I would be able to read it in his face.

He cleared his throat. "I seem to have knocked my glasses away. If you could find them I would appreciate it very much."

"Sure." I walked around to the other side of his bed and looked around on the floor. They were lying on the ground underneath the window. He must have hit them pretty hard to get them all the way over here. An image of him waking up in terror came into my mind, calling out in confusion as his arms flailed wildly so as to send his glasses flying halfway across the room. Shaking my head to get rid of the unpleasant mental picture, I bent down and picked them up. Luckily, they weren't damaged. I crossed the room and set them into his hand.

"Thank you," he muttered, sliding them onto his face. "Please excuse me." He pushed off the covers and walked into the bathroom. The door closed with a resounding, but polite, 'leave me alone'. I got back into my bed and shimmied down under the duvet and closed my eyes. But the look on his face post-attack was haunting. He looked so ill, so tired and so  _broken_.

I drifted into a dreamless sleep, and woke to find it was morning. Q was already awake and dressed, working at something on his laptop. Part of me suspected that he hadn't even tried to go back to sleep after the incident in the night. Without saying anything to each other, I got up and went into the bathroom to get ready for the day ahead. It got to the point where we'd spent too long without talking that breaking the silence would have been more painful than enduring it. Apart from informing me that he was going to book us a taxi to the University, nothing else passed between us. I wondered if he was embarrassed about last night, or if he thought it made him come across as weak. Part of me wanted to tell him that it didn't matter to me at all. On the contrary, it made him seem more human than the robotic, computer hacking thesaurus that I'd been acquainted to for the last week or so.

Half an hour out of Berne we were in the countryside and I saw the mountains for the first time. It felt exactly the same as when you step outside in winter, and the cold literally reaches in and steals the breath from your lungs. The 'wow' that escaped from my mouth was completely involuntary.

"They're beautiful," was Q's first attempt at a conversation today.

"Amazing," I echoed, trying to resist the urge to press my face into the car window to get closer to them.

"There are some excellent ski resorts around here too. Have you ever skied Anna?"

I gave him a quizzical look. Had he just asked a question unprompted? "Surely that's the sort of thing that would be on my records?"

He looked at me, and as his face relaxed into a smile I noticed for the first time how  _handsome_  he could be. His face was angular, but not harsh. His scruffy black hair brushed against the top of his glasses. "As a matter of fact it was, but I'm endeavouring to find these sorts of things out first hand." Underneath the lenses, his hazel-green eyes twinkled a little. "Your files tell me whether or not you've visited a ski resort. However, they neglect to mention the personal touches, like how it feels the first time you go down a slope."

"I wouldn't know. I've never been before."

He smiled and turned his attention back to the distant peaks. "It feels like you're flying."

"Do you ski often?"

He gave a little shake of his head. "Not recently. However, when I was younger out family went every year for the Christmas holidays." His upper-class was beginning to show again. I didn't know whether to tease him about it, or to sulk from jealousy. Instead, I said nothing. "It would be a shame to waste the opportunity of being so close to such good resorts." I wasn't sure if he was talking to me or just voicing his thoughts out loud. "Perhaps I could teach you."

"That's very generous, and very brave of you. If all this espionage business gets too much I could use some fun."

Q put a finger to his cupids bow and nodded his head to the taxi driver. I rolled my eyes and returned to watching the country side fly past the window. It was also an attempt to distract me from thinking about how much my dream-self had enjoyed the feel of that cupids bow. Mentally, I gave myself a slap. What was I, twelve? I was a grown woman, and couldn't be getting myself all giggly and stupid over something my sub-conscious had conjured up.

Compared to yesterday, the journey passed in the blink of an eye. The Eiger University looked so tiny compared to the backdrop of giant mountains. However, as we got closer, it unravelled into a vast, grey, stunning, gothic building. We pulled up to the residential dorms that were so strangely modern in comparison, even though it couldn't have been any more recently built than the early 90s. I went into reception and explained myself. The man who was manning the desk scanned a copy of my passport and got me to sign a form that made me responsible for any and all damages to my room. At the end of everything, I was handed over a key card on a keyring with my room number, and a second small key that I thought might be for a locked cupboard in my room or something like that. I was on the second floor, flat 5, room 4. I slipped the card into the door handle and opened. Inside was a pretty simple and bare room. A single size mattress, with desk, built in shelves and a bigger than average wardrobe. Behind the second door was a very small but fully functioning en-suite. I was especially glad about this. I could manage using a shared kitchen again, but co-ed bathrooms were a horror that I never wanted to partake in again. I looked out of the window and got a sudden urge to look around the campus.

"I'm going to explore a little. Do you want to come too?"

Q, who'd been looking around my room with interest turned his attention to me. "I'm afraid all my outdoor weather coats are in my luggage. I'll stay here in case the van arrives."

"Sure." I fixed my scarf and placed the room keys into his hand. I was almost at the door when I head my name. I turned and raised my eyebrows.

"I noticed that you don't have any gloves. It would be uncomfortable to spend very much time outside without them." Out of the pocked of his overnight bag, he produced some plain black woollen gloves. He tossed them to me from the other side of the room.

"Thanks," I replied, and waved a goodbye.

Outside, I discovered a little shop beside the dorm reception. It was open for a few hours every day and sold the basic essentials like milk, bread, fruit and vegetables. The nearest village was about three miles away. This way, at least, I wouldn't have to run in every few days to get supplies. In the icy wind, I was actually glad of Q's gloves. I noticed a faint smell of soap and musk as I pulled them over my fingers.

There was a big clock on the main building that chimed quarter to noon as I was walking past. Sunday must have been a very slow day here because my footprints were the only ones in the thin sprinkling of snow on the paths. I walked around each of the separate buildings, reading the plaques on the doors that told me the department, and whose offices could be found within. For a while I got a little lost and wandered around in circles without realising. As I passed the clock again on my way back I was very surprised to find that it was just after a quarter to 1 and I had been gone over an hour.

Knowing Q was inside, I knocked before entering the dorm. For a moment I was disorientated, as everything looked completely different. He had unpacked everything.  
"Woah."  
On the shelves, my books were arranged neatly and all my computer equipment was set up on the desk. He'd even taken the new bed linen and made my bed and arranged the cushions.  
"Thanks," I breathed, "You didn't have to do this."

"Your things arrived while you were away and I wasn't otherwise occupied. I… eh… left your clothes in the suitcase. I thought you might prefer to deal with that yourself. Oh, and your kitchen utensils are unpacked into your designated cupboard in the kitchen. The second small key is for your cupboard." He stood up and put the programming textbook he'd been flicking through back on the shelf. I walked over and examined it, familiarising myself with where he'd put everything, in alphabetical order no less.

There was a strange warm glow that was spreading through my chest. Whatever had happened in the middle of last night had started to oil up the Tinman that was Q. Maybe having him around wouldn't be so bad at all. The smile on my face quickly faded though as I caught something glinting behind the wooden ornament, of a mother and daughter embracing, that my mum had got me for my 21st.

"You bastard," I spat, pulling the tiny camera from its hiding place. Every little bit of personal progress was immediately revoked.

"It's for your protection," he blurted quickly, "Standard issue for an undercover operation such as this."

"Protection my ass!" I yelled, jabbing my finger into his chest, "This is  _voyeurism_. Get your bugs out of my room.  _Now_."

His eyes shifted quickly around the room as he tried to avoid looking at me. "Well, technically its only voyeurism if I'm monitoring the feed while you're engaging in-"

"Get them out!"

With a reluctant sigh, he agreed. Q set about removing all the discrete wiring, cameras and microphones. I started unpacking my clothes, letting out my frustration by slamming the doors and drawers shut each time. When it was done, he put everything into a box and headed towards the door of my dorm. He rested his fingers on the handle and turned back to the room, his gaze fixed on the floor.

"Please remember to wear your earpiece for your induction tomorrow."

With that he left. I threw out my arms and fell backwards into the embrace of my bed. The reality of the last few days began to slowly seep in. Was I really in Switzerland, working for the British secret service, being harassed by their slightly sociopathic techie? It was then I realised I was still wearing Q's gloves. Angrily, I pulled them off and flung them across the room. I knew it wasn't entirely his fault that his awareness of moral boundaries was a bit skewed, but even so, he pissed me off.

I briefly met two of my flatmates, a neurobiology student from Hong Kong called Mei-Lien while I was putting something edible together out of the few things I'd brought from home. She leant me some of her milk so that I could have tea. When I went looking for someone who knew the internet key (I didn't want to spend my first day at the Eiger by hacking their server) I also met Georg, a German student who I was pleased to learn would be working with me in the computer engineering department. At least I'd know one face.

The next morning, as instructed, I put in my earpiece and microphone earrings. I was fixing my hair in the mirror before leaving the room when he spoke to me.

_"Good morning Anna."_

I grabbed the edge of the sink and swore rather loudly. "Don't do that." I hissed back to the empty room.

_"The earpiece responds to heat. It turns itself on and alerts me almost as soon as you have it inserted."_

"Right. Fine. Just, don't scare me again."

_"I'll endeavour not to."_

I made my way across to the main offices. Monday morning was decidedly busier with students rushing around to get to morning lectures.

I waited outside Professor Reinhard's office. Apparently the Dean himself wanted to speak to the post-grad transfer. It made me slightly nervous. Usually you only ever met the Dean of a University if you'd done something exceptional, or if you were on the receiving end of disciplinary action. I knew there was no possible way of me already being in trouble, but neither did I feel like I was worthy of any praise. On top of that, I was probably supposed to be keeping a low profile.

"Miss Winterman!"

The accent was of German descent, but one that had spent a large proportion of their English speaking time in America. Prof. Ernest Reinhard appeared at the door of his office. I knew his face from his bio page on the Eiger website. He was in his mid to late-fifties, sporting a crop of greying brown hair and a round face that looked pleased to see me.

"It's a pleasure," he enthused as he shook my hand vigorously, "We're so happy to have you join us at the Eiger. I've seen your thesis and I'm glad that you've chosen to spend even just a little of your time working here. Of course, your research, once it's published will no doubt boost the image of excellence that we try to create here at the Eiger, and for that we cannot thank you enough."

"It's no trouble," I managed, trying not to blush from all the praise. Behind Prof. Reinhard, a second, slightly younger man with a harsh face appeared out of the office. He didn't look so pleased to see me. Though from the deep lines that were set into his face, he didn't look like anything ever pleased him.

"Let me introduce you to Dr. Gardiner. You'll be working in his department while you're here." The second man shook my hand like he want to spend the least time touching me as was physically possible. His hand was cold and rough. A metaphor for his personality I guessed. "Forgive me a moment Anna, Dr. Gardiner, I've just remembered about a quick phone call. I won't be long." He disappeared back into his office and shut the door. An awkward silence descended over the Dr and I.

"Miss Winterman," Dr. Gardiner spoke with a chill in his voice, "You're landing here in the middle of an academic year is very disruptive. My team and I are a close knit operation to which you will be an unwelcome addition. I objected to your coming but Prof. Reinhard insisted. We've already lost precious research time in rearrange the office for an extra space. Settle in quickly with the minimum of fuss. It will be less painful for both of us if I can forget that you're here."

All words dried up on my tongue. I had never been patronised to like this before in my life. Anger began to bubble under my skin. I clenched and unclenched my fists, trying to relieve some of the tension.

_"Well, he's a hostile individual."_

I tried not to make my agreement audible. I couldn't imagine a more damning character reference than Q, of all people, declaring you unfriendly.

Just then the Dean reappeared. "Right then," he gestured down the hallway, "We'll begin our tour if you're ready?"


	7. Chapter 7

The Eiger was amazing. I was most impressed by the computer suite. The place may have looked pretty from the outside, but I doubted that it was up to scratch on the inside. I couldn't have been more wrong. The computer systems had been updated within the last few months, and their broadband speeds were amazing. We must have been pretty close to the main European network.

Prof. Reinhard talked the whole time about the research that each department was doing, dropping names of all the journals that had recently published their work. Dr. Gardiner stayed silent, his lips drawn into a tight line as he endured the Professors boasting. I tried to keep an eye open for anything suspicious. However it wasn't as easy as I had thought. There were no doors marked with big red signs that said 'Do not enter, top secret illegal activity going on inside'.

"Are you settling in alright?" Reinhard asked as we were walking back to his office.

"Yes, thank you. The dorms are great."

"We're in the process of designing new postgraduate accommodation so that the research students don't have to share with the undergraduates. I'm sorry that it wasn't ready in time for you."

Dr Gardiner made a noise of disgust in the back of his throat, that I was sure only I could hear.

"Forgive me," Reinhard continued, "But I was out walking my dog yesterday and was wondering who your friend was that you arrived with? I didn't recognise him as a student here."

My heart gave a little jolt of panic. He's the guy that's here to investigate why all the geniuses are disappearing from your University. Of course, I couldn't tell him that. "He's a… friend." The earpiece crackled into life, and I tried to disguise the fright it gave me as shifting my weight from one foot to the other.

_"Friend is an unsatisfactory acquaintance to invest in travel across Europe. Suggest a romantic attachment."_

I didn't have time to think about it and just did as I was told. "Actually he's my boyfriend." More earpiece instruction ensued. "His parents have a holiday cabin in Interlacken and he's going to check that everything is alright after the winter renting."

"Isn't that great luck! Well, I think we're done here. Have you any questions?"

I had a million, but none that could be asked without raising suspicions. Instead, I shook my head.

"It's been a pleasure to meet you Anna Winterman. I hope you have a pleasant few months and I look forward to seeing your work once it's completed. The Eiger is a tough institution. If you feel under too much pressure, please talk to me, to Dr Gardiner, or to someone from the Student Guidance Centre. We've had an unusually high dropout rate in recent years, and we don't want you to become victim to that. Dr Gardiner will take you back to the computer suite."

Professor Reinhard turned into his office and I looked up at the Dr who, without giving me any warning, set off. I had to half-run to keep up. "This is your desk." He pointed at the only bare cubicle in the room, and without excusing himself, set off towards his office that was at the far end of the room. Bewildered, I set my bag down on the desk. As I looked around, curious heads peeked over the tops of their booths. It was like high school again, and I was the new girl. With a sigh, I sat down and booted up the computer. I produced my external hard dive and set about organising my work on the new computer. It wasn't too long before Georg's head appeared over the top of my booth.

"Hello," he called, the German accent strong, "Did you get the internet working okay?"

"Yes, thank you," I replied gratefully. He looked every bit a typical German. He had buzzed blonde hair and bright blue eyes, and his skin was inexplicably bronzed despite that we were in the middle of winter. He was a perfect gentleman and he introduced me to everyone, which was more faces and names that I could ever possibly remember at once. I was most grateful when he showed me where the little kitchen was. It had been too long since my last cup of tea.

It was surprising how easy I settled in. The only thing that had shaken me was the different keyboard. Every so often I would come across punctuation that wasn't where it was supposed to be.

Later, while I was making dinner in the dorm kitchen, putting together something resembling dinner, Mei-Lein appeared to cook hers, and we got talking. The flats were built to hold six rooms, but I had only met her and Georg. Mei explained that two other girls, Carrie and Lyndsay, hadn't returned from the winter break yet. There had been another guy from France, Matthieu who had been in room 503, but she hadn't seen him since November, and had assumed he had dropped out.

 _"Matthieu is one of the names we have on the list missing_." Q blurted. Again, I had another small heart attack, and wondered if I'd ever get used to my earpiece.

While we cooked and ate, Mei-Lein chatted enthusiastically about her work. As part of her final year project she was working on stem cells, trying to force them to differentiate into functional nerve cells. If it worked, she explained, it could be the first step towards developing treatments for brain diseases like Alzheimer's. I then explained my work, about how I was trying to simplify computer programming so that you could make tiny machines. If it worked then theoretically,  _everything_  could be made smaller, phones, computers and medical equipment. The list was endless. The only reason that I hadn't been celebrating was that in the eighteen months I had been working on it, my success had been limited.

 _"You need to find a way to access Matthieu's room,"_  Q instructed when I had finished up in the kitchen.

"How?" I asked the voice in my ear, considering for a moment that to anyone else, I would have looked schizophrenic.

_"I'm not a field agent, Anna, my skills in the art of espionage stretch as far as cyber terrorism, car and small weapon design. What about getting a key? What would you do if you lost your key?"_

"Go to reception I assume."

_"Then that would be my suggestion."_

"This is crazy," I muttered, "They'll catch me, and I'll get in trouble on my first day."

_"If you do, you'll just have to come up with a credible excuse. However, if they're working the reception at a University residential complex, than I wouldn't place a bet on their intelligence being particularly great."_

"You're horrible," I whispered back.

_"I've been informed of as much before."_

The receptionist took one look at me as I walked through the door without a coat, in my slippers and asked, "Key?"

I gave a nod, rolling my eyes in a theatrical 'oh, silly me' sort of way.

"Name?"

"Anna Winterman"

 _"I thought the objective was to gain entry into Matthieu's room."_  I bit back a sarcastic response. I was the one doing all the work here, the least he could do was trust me. The receptionist called up my name on the computer to check my room number against it. From a stack beside the computer, he took a new key card, swiped it on a little keypad, entered the number, and passed it to me with the warning, "You can do this only five times before we start charging for new cards."

I turned to go, and then casually swung back around. "You don't happen to have any mail for me? I left my phone charger at home and mum said she would post it express mail."

"I'll take a look." He disappeared into a room behind the desk. I grabbed a new key card from the little pile, swiped it and entered 503 for Matthieu's room. The little light went green and I shoved it into my pocket, just as the receptionist reappeared, shaking his head. "No post for you, sorry."

"Thanks anyway." I tried not to run out of the room for fear that I would raise suspicion. The card felt red hot in my pocket, and I was sure he would notice that the pile was one card short, or that the machine had been used. Half way between the reception and the main building, I let myself begin to believe that I'd gotten away with it. I whispered to Q, "I've got it!"

 _"I know,"_  he replied, _"I was able to watch you from three different angles on CCTV. So was campus security."_

My heart careened into the bottom of my chest. "Oh, shit! What do I do?"

_"Don't worry about it. I worked out what you were going to do about two seconds before you did, and I was able to stop the feed. There was a ten second glitch on the tape but I doubt they even noticed."_

"Oh my god," I breathed as my heart slowly recovered something resembling a normal rhythm. "You're brilliant. Thanks."

 _"I thought I was horrible."_ I thought I could hear the teasing smirk behind his voice.

"You can be both."

The corridor was empty when I got back, so I just went straight to Matthieu's room. I suppressed the urge to give a triumphant shout as the door clicked open in response to the card. Carefully, I pushed open the door. Inside it smelt of stale boy, a mix of strong deodorant and dirty clothes. Apart from the very mouldy crust of a long eaten sandwich, the room looked as though it might have been in use this afternoon. I explored cautiously. The papers on his desk were in a mix of French and English. Again, I wasn't exactly sure what I was looking for. It was unlikely that I would find a letter inviting him to a super-secret meeting at an abandoned warehouse. I asked Q for any hints.

_"Try looking at what he was most recently working on. If we can find a link to any of the others, it might orientate our search in the proper direction."_

I shuffled together all the papers into a neat pile. I also took his laptop and left. As there were no CCTV cameras in the actual flats for Q to check, I peeked out through a crack in the door before leaving. Back in my room I cracked my knuckles before I set into breaking through into Matthieu's laptop. It was nice to stretch my hacking wings again. I had forgotten how much fun it was. Of course, Q liked to interrupt, telling me how I was doing it wrong. After about ten minutes I got fed up and took out my earpiece.

About an hour later, I put it back in to tell him what I'd found.

 _"Nice of you to join me."_ My ear felt cold from the ice in his voice.

"I've searched through his files and folders. The last thing that he was doing on this computer is sorting through photos of a party. Whoever is taking the students, I don't think they know about it before hand."

_"And what about his work? What was the most recently accessed academic files?"_

"That's the thing." I cleared my throat to deliver the bad news. "This seems to be a strictly personal laptop. I can't find anything University related in here."

_"Shit."_

"I still have the papers. Maybe there's something else in there. What course was he on?"

_"He was in the first year that they started the Nanomedicine degree pathway."_

"That doesn't tell us anything."

_"I'll look over what information we already have on them and get back to you. If you could meet me on Saturday in Steffisburg and you can give me the notes and I'll get the French ones translated."_

My first week at the Eiger passed uneventfully. Towards the end of the week I met the other two girls in my flat. The names of the people in the computer labs began to stick too, and I was settling in well. I did miss Lucy though. We had a Skype session on Friday evening to catch up. We talked about the latest episodes of TV shows that we had watched together and she read me that latest thing that she had written for her course, though knowing little of literature the only thing I could contribute was to tell her whether or not she had a consistent stream of ideas. 

On Saturday, I met Q in a café in Steffisburg, the closest decent sized town to the Eiger. In my bag I had all the papers I'd collected from Matthieu's room. I handed them over as we sat down and ordered lunch.

"I was looking over the information on all of the missing students, and each of them were in either their final year of Undergraduate, or in Postgraduate study."

"What's different about the final year?"

"That's what I'm trying to work out."

I played with the little bowl of sugar packets for a moment, trying to link Undergraduate Final year and Postgraduate study. Suddenly, something clicked. "Wait, are the Eiger degrees all Honours? If you're doing an Honours degree, your final year includes a unit of a personal research project, right? And Postgraduate degrees are always research based. That's the link. They're all doing research of some kind."

Q's face lit up, "Of course! I'll see if I can find out what they were all working on. Maybe there is a common thread that connects them all. Good job Anna."

His praise sent a wave of warmth through me. His smile faded though as his gaze flicked to something behind my head. Curious, I looked around only to see an oddly familiar face.

"I do hope I'm not disturbing anything." Bond pulled over a chair from a table that was unoccupied and sat down.

"Good afternoon 007," Q said, his voice clipped and courteous. "To what do we owe the pleasure?"

"I was in the neighbourhood, and thought I'd give you this." The agent set a plastic bag on the table and pushed it towards the Quartermaster. "Returned in one piece, as per your request."

Q reached into the bag and took out a lump of twisted black plastic. His mouth dropped open, then, he quickly pressed his lips together in a tight line and glared at 007 from under his glasses. "And how did you manage this monstrosity?"

"Let's just say I got into a bit of hot water. Technically, it's still in one piece." Bonds face was a picture of smugness. He knew exactly which of Q's buttons to press.

"I will stress from now on that the equipment be in  _working_  order."

Bond leaned across the table. "Then might I suggest you make them a little more robust?"

I brought my hand up to hide my laugh behind my hand. Q's face was quietly thunderous. The surface was calm, but I could see his polite rage bubbling underneath. The agent turned to face me. Despite the cold, hard about the lines of his face he was a very handsome man. Late thirties, early forties at most.

"And how is the operation here going?" he asked, his smile setting lose a flutter in the bottom of my stomach.

"Very well, thank you," Q quipped, "Anna has proven herself a valuable asset to the agency."

"Perhaps we can look forward to seeing more of each other once your assignment is over?" he suggested with something halfway between a smirk and a smile on his pale lips. Agent 007 wasn't anywhere remotely close to the type of man that I usually went for. Aside from the obvious age gap, nearly 20 years at a guess, I could also see that there was far too much emotional baggage weighing him down. Still, the flirtatious conversation made a nice change from Q's robotic nature. I met his eyes and returned the smile, enjoying the way it made me feel. Just then the glass door to the café bust open and three men stormed in shouting and wielding big guns. Pandemonium erupted.

"If you'll excuse me, my date is here," Bond said calmly, drawing a small handheld from inside his jacket pocket. He grabbed my shoulder and gently, but firmly, pushed me to the ground. Q was already there. There was a burst of gunfire. The noise of it, combined with the screaming of the customers and waiting staff, was so loud that it was impossible think. How could I go from flirting to being afraid for my life in just a matter of seconds?

"What the bloody hell are you playing at?" Q shouted.

"I'm working, not playing. If you looked up from your computer screen once in a while you might recognise the difference," 007 retorted, as he flipped up a table to use as cover. "Go through the kitchens and out the back!"

Another burst of gunfire hit the wall above our heads, sending plaster raining down on top of us. A hand found its way to the back of my neck pushing my head lower to the ground. It was Q. "Keep your head down," he whispered with surprising calm. For a fleeting moment, I wondered what effect this would have on his anxiety, but quickly forgot as more gunfire rang out.

We half crawled, half hunkered through the legs of tables and chairs towards the kitchen. The kitchen was empty. "Go," Q urged, his hand moving from the back of my neck to my shoulder. Whoever had been in here when the first shots were fired must have gotten out. Just as I put my hand on the back door, it swung inwards causing both Q and I to fly backwards into a tangled heap on the floor. Looking up, I was staring down the barrel of the gun. I guess the exit wasn't as clear as Bond had anticipated.


	8. Chapter 8

There is something oddly calming about looking down the barrel of a gun. Instead of being consumed with your imminent death, your brain kind of malfunctions and the sum total that you can muster is 'oh look, a gun'. Then the shot went off. I expected pain, coldness, that white light that everyone says you're supposed to see. I got none of it. Instead, the gun that was pointed in my direction went slack and I looked up just in time to see the man, who had been wielding it, pitch forward. Half of his face was blurred in red. He came towards me fast, and I covered my face with my arms to soften the impact when I was yanked suddenly out of the way. The body hit the kitchen tiles somewhere beside my head with a wet slap.

"Anna!" my name sounded distant, as if I was being called to from the other side of a field. It sounded a few more times, getting closer and clearer, until I realised that Q was saying my name from right beside me.

"Anna!" he shouted, "Are you okay?"

"I...I don't know," I replied honestly. Everything felt so disconnected, like I was watching events from third person. He pulled me to my feet. Through the serving hatch in the kitchen I could see Bonds blond head, his lips a tight line as he checked over his gun. The calm manner with which he did this suggested the immediate threat had passed. I looked around, and back down at the body on the floor, a deep red pool forming beside the part of his skull that was missing. What I was seeing was so far removed from anything I had ever experienced before, my brain was struggling to cope. Maybe people who saw dead bodies all the time felt the same. Perhaps it was just something that you never got used to. 007 appeared through the door, moving in a quick, controlled way.

"We need to get out of here before the police arrive," he said, ushering Q and I out the back door. A 4x4 was parked out back, the doors open and the engine still running. Obviously the men who had come to the café had expected to be returning to their vehicle. The agent slid into the driver's seat and instructed us to get in. It was then that I noticed I'd been moving forward without really trying, or even thinking. Confused, I looked down and was surprised to find that the Quartermaster had my hand in his and was leading me. He must have seen me notice, because almost immediately after that he let go, uttered an emotionless apology, and opened the car door for me. I got in without thinking about the hand thing. I didn't even think I was capable of anything more than the most superficial of functions; breathing, for example. As soon as the door was shut, Bond floored the accelerator.

"Q, I need the tapes from any security cameras in the café and traffic cameras to vanish," he instructed.

"Of course, as long as you can tell me why you dragged an operation into the middle of a public place!"

"I didn't," Bond snapped back, annoying traffic with his erratic driving, "At least, not on purpose. I completed my assignment for M and was heading home. When they came in I thought they might have followed me from France after the mission, but they had a different make of gun. People in the same organisation tend to have the same guns. I don't think it was me they were after. Perhaps we interrupted a robbery."

"They were far too well armed for a simple robbery," Q scoffed.

"Well then the café owner is a drug lord and we interrupted suburban Swiss gang warfare," the agent chuckled. The cold way with which he laughed in the face of the fact that our lives had been at risk, and that he had  _killed_  several people sent a chill down my spine. This man wasn't just cold, he was a machine. In the rear view mirror, his icy eyes flicked up at mine, as if he could hear my thoughts. Quickly, I shifted my gaze out the window. Bond's driving was impossibly fast, yet impeccably controlled. Under Q's direction we were back at the residential halls in what seemed like no time. The speed with which I had been removed from the situation at the café made it seem all the more surreal. Did that even just happen? Perhaps that's why they'd taken me out of there so quickly. I got out of the car and slung the bag that contained Matthieu's papers over my shoulder. It was then that I realised we never got to finish our meeting.

"Oh, wait," I said, turning back to the car as I suddenly remembered why I had gone to meet Q, "We haven't talked about the stuff I found in Matthieu's room."

"Give them to me, and we can talk about them at a later date. An ordeal like todays would exhaust you mentally."

I handed him the pages through the open car window then ran a hand though my hair. My fingers caught in knots at the end and as I yanked them free my scalp gave a protest of pain. It was the first time I had felt anything but numb since the café.

From the car, Bond spoke something under his breath to Q, smacking his hand lightly off the Quartermasters shoulder. He turned back around to me.

"Anna, you're… alright after… today?" Q enquired, seemingly under instruction from Bond.

A small laugh escaped my mouth before I could catch it. "Nearly being killed while I was having lunch? That's a boring day by my usual standards."

He angled his head ever so slightly. "Are you sure?" He used enough sarcasm that he should know when it was being used by someone else. So, why was he pressing this?

"Yeah, I'll be okay," I offered with a weak smile, avoiding his eyes as I lied.

Okay was something that I was definitely not. If okay could be found on a map, I was currently on a different continent. The need to do something completely normal was overwhelming. I had tried eating, and it didn't help. Each mouthful was tasteless and stale. Every movie and TV episode that I had saved on my computer was just people that I didn't care about saying words that didn't mean anything. So I put on some calming piano music by Ludovico Einaudi and got out my nail varnishes. I prepped my nails, and began painting. However, after two nails, I realised that the deep red colour I had chosen reminded me of blood. The acrid smell of the varnish rose and burned my nose and I started to choke. I realised that I had to get it off. I noisily rummaged through my drawers, pulling out bits and pieces, ruining the neat order in which Q had arranged my things. However, the nail varnish remover was nowhere to be found. The need to get that colour off my nails was all consuming, and I began to scratch at the paint. I didn't even realise I was crying until the tears splashed onto the skin of my hands as I frantically tried to peel the quickly hardening varnish off. I realised that the waves of panic were a complete overreaction, but I could do nothing to stop them. I wanted to talk with someone, but no-one would understand. For a moment I considered phoning Mum or Lucy and passing off the catch in my voice as home-sickness, but I doubted they would believe me. I'd always been so independent they'd know something else was wrong, and I didn't want to lie to them. On the desk in front of me was the little ear piece. Would he understand, or would he just talk down to me in that irritated know-it-all way, dismissing it as female hysterics? Gingerly, like it might electrocute me, I put the earpiece in and waited a few moments.

"Q?" I asked tentatively. There was no response. I waited for another few moments and then called again. There was another pause and I could feel a fresh wave of tears begin to burn behind my eyes.

 _"Anna?"_  I let out a sigh of relief.  _"Is everything alright?"_

"I don't think so," I replied, smiling weakly, even though he wasn't there to see, "I'm just… I don't know."

_"I should have realised the signs earlier. I can't apologise enough for what happened today. I should never have let Bond stay when he was in the middle of an operation."_

"He said he wasn't though," I reminded him. "He said they weren't even after him."

_"There are always men with guns after 007. It's an occupational hazard."_

"I guess." There followed an awkward silence. I didn't know how to continue the conversation. I'm scared? The colour red frightens me now?

_"Anna? Do you want to talk about it?"_

"Not really. I just, I just want to forget about it. But… I haven't been doing that very well so far. I just… don't know."

_"If you like, I could come over and we can discuss Matthieu's papers it in your dorm? Would that be a suitable enough distraction?"_

I swallowed down my polite refusal. I'd wanted something to distract me, and here was my red flashing opportunity. "That would be good."

_"I'll be over in a few moments."_

About ten minutes later, the flat buzzed and I let him in. "Where are you staying that you could get here so quickly?"

"It's better if you don't know. That way you can't reveal it to the wrong person under duress." Twelve hours ago I would have thought this might have been a straight faced joke of his. However, now I knew differently. If I was still going to see this through, then there was a very real possibility that the knowledge of where Q had set up his base could actually be used against me. After all, whatever I found out after my time at the Eiger would give Q the power to bring down the 'bad guy' behind this all. I probably wasn't going to be very popular because of it.

"So," he pulled out my desk chair and lowered himself into it. I moved over and sat down on the edge of my bed as he got out the papers from his bag. "Before we begin, I must apologise again for what happened in the café."

"Stop saying sorry," I sighed, "It wasn't your fault."

"No, but I  _am_  saying sorry for not being sympathetic enough to how it affected you. Before you take up a position at MI6 they give you an extensive psychoanalysis and teach you how to deal healthily with stressful situations." He gave a small little smile, "My history of anxiety made a great deal of extra work for them."

"No-one can tell you how to deal with your emotions in a  _healthy_  way," I mumbled, recalling back to the family therapy sessions after Dad's death at the World Trade Centre. "Everyone deals differently. It's like going into a tunnel. It doesn't matter how you get through it, as long as you come out the other end."

The irony of it was that those were the exact words the counsellor had said, just before she'd listed off some 'healthy' grieving techniques. I looked up from my slippers, and found Q was giving me a very strange look, like I'd said something profound. Then, just as the look lasted into a stare, he caught himself and broke my gaze.

"So," he repeated, straightening his back, "I had Matthieu's papers translated and this one," he brandished a sheet that was just incoherent lines of gibberish and doodles of various manga faces, "Seems to be a rough outline of the write up he was doing on his research. It seems he was compiling previous research on methods of nano-scale drug delivery."

I could feel myself relax as the incident earlier in the day shuffled slowly down the list of things I was thinking about. "Without knowing what the other missing people were working on, we can't begin to look for a link."

"Well, I was doing some prying into the network and found the ghost files and found some of Amanda Smith's work. She was the first one to disappear three years ago. She was working on getting drugs delivered across the blood brain barrier. It's a very stubborn membrane between, well, blood capillaries and the brain. The body has very strict rules about what can cross over into the brain tissue and getting a drug to fit inside those parameters is not an easy task."

"So, medicine and drugs. Those two things are pretty linked. Maybe they were snapped up by a Pharmaceutical tycoon?" I suggested.

Q held up a hand and made a face that suggested it was more complicated than that. "I found one other, from an engineering student called Harry Trent. He was working on computer components that were micrometres in size."

I puffed up my cheeks and then let the air escape in a low whistle. "Well that has nothing to do with medicine." There was a pause, then, I asked, "How many people in total have disappeared?"

"Ten." He listed them off, "Amanda Smith, Harry Trent, Matthieu Gris, Harriett Jenkins, John Redman, Olivia Wilde, Gustav Listing, Tomas Bergmann, Leon Argent and Luis Maison."

"And you've looked for stuff on those others."

"Of course," he said, bristling slightly like I'd insulted him, "It's as if they never existed. The only thing I can locate is their missing person's reports from their respective countries."

"So I guess I just keep going. See if I can find anything out from any of the students or staff here."

"Be especially wary around the faculty. Everyone is a suspect." My mind immediately jumped to Dr Gardiner for some reason. His foul mood at all times was defiantly suspect. Who could be that angry all the time and not be doing something illegal? With a defeated sigh, I let myself fall backwards onto the bed. Now that our discussion had come to a close, it was just a waiting game until the guns and the blood found its way back into the fore of my mind.

"I assume this wasn't sufficient enough distraction from your trauma?" Q asked. I managed a noise that resembled a sardonic laugh.

"I don't think anything right now will be a  _sufficient_ distraction." As I stared at the ceiling light, I could hear the chair move as he got up. In the periphery of my vision, I could see him come towards me. Beside me, the bed depressed a little under the weight of his slight body. I sat up. In his hand was a small brown bottle with a pharmacy label.

"Over the years, I have developed mechanisms to cope with my anxiety. One of them is to avoid the things that aggravate it, such as flying. However, when there are times that I cannot effectively instil those ways, I have these." He twisted the cap off, bumping me slightly with his elbow as he did. He tipped the bottle up and two little round, slightly yellow circles tumbled out onto his palm.

"Are you trying to drug me now?" I asked, warily eyeing the pills. My stubborn self began to protest. "I don't,  _shouldn't_ , need medical help with this."

"Accepting help isn't a defeat," his eyes met mine. "If nothing else, they'll help you sleep. The first night will be the worst. If you get through it, you'll be alright. Would you like me to get you a drink?"

"No." The quicker they disappeared, the less time I had to talk myself out of it. I picked up the two tablets, dropped them onto my tongue and swallowed several times. They were gone. I flopped back onto the bed to stare at the ceiling. "So when do I start seeing the pink elephants?"

"The what?"

"Pink elephants? It's a Dumbo reference. You know, the Disney film?"

"References from popular culture are wasted on me I'm afraid."

I rolled my eyes. "Fine. Then…" I searched around in my head for some common ground to talk about. "I've got one. Tell me about Bond. I get the impression that he's fifty shades of fucked up."

"I haven't worked with 007 all that much so I don't have very much to tell."

I propped myself up on my elbows and looked up at him. "Bullshit. You hacked his files and you know it." The right hand corner of his mouth turned up in the smallest of smiles.

"This, of course, is all confidential information. I'm really not at liberty to discuss any of…"

I pushed him off the edge of the bed with my foot, hoping that the fall might break some of his decorum and make him a little more, well, human. He gave a little shout of protest and then did something that completely surprised me. He laughed. He picked himself up and sat back down on the desk chair opposite me.

"Tell me about Bond. Tell me about the first time you worked with him."

So he did. He also told me about a man named Silva who had once been an agent for MI6. I could see him squirm with embarrassment when he related the bit where Silva had hacked him, causing him to release the prison cell where he had been contained. There was something about Bond chasing him through the underground which sounded terrifying. I was able to place that next to the extended period of 'improvements' that cause chaos on some of the lines a few months ago. I also remember something about Scotland and the sky falling but I guess that's where I started falling asleep because a falling sky didn't make any sense. Whatever Q had given me worked a treat. When I woke up briefly in the middle of the night to turn over, I realised that my dressing gown had been draped over me and my slippers had been removed from my feet. He may have been a robot, but he was a thoughtful robot.


	9. Chapter 9

Sunday morning arrived without event. I woke gently after what I guessed was a good twelve, or fourteen hour sleep. The only word that I could find to adequately describe how my head felt was thick. Or maybe sturdy. I wasn't entirely sure. However, I felt like you could drop an emotional bombshell on me and I would be totally fine with it. Seemed that Q's magic little anxiety busters were still making their blissful way through my system. It was such a stark comparison to the night before, when I was sure that I was so close to falling apart completely. Today, I wasn't even sure an earthquake could shake me now.

Mei-Lein knocked on my door some time later, and I opened onto her cheery face.

"Anna! We're going to have a movie night in the kitchen. Would you like to come? I don't think you've met the other two girls in the flat yet." Then she added with a giggle, "We're going to watch Mean Girls."

I laughed then too. "Sure, what time?"

"Around eight."

"Cool, I'll see you then!

She waved and disappeared down the hall again. I made my way into the kitchen and scraped together something that could resemble both breakfast and lunch. Technically I was still a student, and therefore it was my prerogative to eat poorly. I dressed and took a walk down to see if I had any mail. There were only a few people who knew or cared that I was here, making it very unlikely that I would have anything waiting for me. To my surprise, though, there  _was_  a letter waiting for me. The envelope was made of thick cardboard, about the size of a full sheet of paper, with 'DO NOT BEND' emblazoned across it. Excitement and curiosity carried me quickly back to my room. I took care opening the seal I pulled out the single piece of paper. There were splashes of colour crudely dragged across the page. My grin was so big my cheeks hurt. I didn't even need a signature to know that Michael was the artist behind this. I took a pin from my notice board and put his work in pride of place. The note from Mum expressed her hope that I'd settled in nicely and how grateful she was for the money that meant she was able to take time off work to spend with Michael. I just hoped that after everything, it would help ease her guilty conscious.

At ten minutes to eight I walked into the kitchen to find that I was the last one there. Mei introduced me to Lindsay, a thin, short girl bedecked in mostly black with rings in her nose and all along the outside of her ear. Despite her unspoken aversion to magnets, she seemed nice enough. Carrie, the other stranger, was a plump, bubbly girl with a head of brown curls that were as big and bouncy as she was. Georg saluted me with his bottle of beer. We compiled everything edible from our cupboards onto the table in the middle. I settled down on the sofa in between Mei and Lindsay under Mei's Hello Kitty duvet.

During the movie I caught sight of Carrie and Georg, who were seated on big cushions on the floor playing with each other's fingers. I wondered if they were an official 'thing', or if I was witness to the tentative beginnings of a mutual yet unspoken attraction. It made me smile, but it also stirred up feelings of envy. For some strange reason, watching them link and unlink their fingers reminded me of yesterday, when Q had taken my hand to lead my barely functioning self from the café. My heart quickened a little, and I wondered if it was for Q himself, or for just anyone to hold my hand and run their finger over the lines of my palm the way Georg did to Carrie. I turned my attention back to the movie, feeling all of a sudden like I was intruding on something by watching any longer.

I expected remembering the events of yesterday to trigger the horror, but it didn't. To my relief, I was able to enjoy my evening watching the great teen classic of our generation. We stayed there, long after the movie had ended, swapping stories about what we'd been up to over the winter break. I was somewhat of a novelty to them, and most of their questions were directed at me. Of course we were all mature grown-ups who were above reprimanding their public display of affection of Georg and Carrie. That part is a lie. But at least they took the teasing well. Georg just smiled and shrugged, while Carrie did a lot of giggling while her face went a very particular shade of pink. Although there were many drawbacks to communal living, such as food thieves and those who refused to clean their dishes, I did miss the atmosphere of being part of a large circle of friends. That night I went to bed content and ready to face the week ahead.

On Monday morning when I put in my earpiece, Q asked me how I was feeling. I told him that I was much better. I would be lying if I said I wasn't a little disappointed when that was the only exchange of conversation we had all day. In fact, except for his usual 'Good Morning' when I put in my earpiece, I didn't hear anything else from him until Thursday. It was coming up to five, when the computer labs closed, and his polite voice caught me off guard.

_"Anna, I am considering visiting Jungfraujoch station on Saturday. It's the highest train station in Europe, and I was wondering if you would like to accompany me?"_

I tried not to giggle. Only Q could manage to turn a train station into a major tourist attraction. My immediate reaction was to decline, I mean what other purpose could it serve other than to subject yourself to an altitude headache and the ability to tell people for the rest of your life that you've been to the highest train station in Europe. But I caught the no on the tip of my tongue and thought about it for a few moments longer. What else was I doing on Saturday? Nothing. Besides everyone back home would be expecting me to tell them all about the wonderful things I'd done here. They'd think that I was an idiot if my stories about my time here all consisted of funny things people had said in an office. "Yeah, that sounds… interesting," I managed trying to justify my statement with the right level of enthusiasm.

_"I'll be there at nine on Saturday morning then."_

Saturday morning came, and I awoke unusually early. I'd set my alarm for eight. An hour was enough for a quick shower and breakfast. Instead, I woke at seven feeling a surprising sense of alertness. Had I been woken suddenly by a bad dream that I couldn't remember? I'd had lots of bad dreams in the recent week. There was always a lot of blood and guns and cruel faces. At least it made it easier to think of what had happened seven days ago as just another of the bad dreams. I used the extra hour to take my time getting ready, but it seemed to drag on with reluctance. I'd had a filling breakfast, a long hot shower that felt as though it had lasted an eternity and painted both sets of nails on my hands and feet. I'd chosen a sparkly turquoise. All my shades of red had been banished from view to the back of the drawer. I wasn't quite ready to test if they would cause another freak out yet. But even after all that, I still had half an hour to spare. I tried reading a few chapters of a book to pass the time. Eventually, when 8:55 flicked over onto the clock, I put on my coat and gloves and made my way to reception.

When the taxi pulled up and that head of black tousled hair appeared out of the door, the realisation of why I'd had such a bizarre morning. Why I had woken up bright and why time had progressed at a stupidly slow pace. It was  _excitement_  and I guessed that it had nothing to do with visiting a train station. He opened the door for me.

"Good morning, Anna," he smiled, saying this for the first time to my face and not through an earpiece.

"Morning!" I answered warmly, ignoring the small flutter somewhere inside my stomach. I couldn't remember the last time I'd felt like this. At a guess it was probably for Robert. I struggled back through our timeline. Together for two years, four months. I counted out the time since we'd broken up. Almost another two years. That made just over 4 years. I would have been nineteen. It seemed like a lifetime ago. Maybe that was it. Maybe I was just lonely and projecting out my feelings, spurred on by Carrie and Georg's romancing last night, on the first man who paid me any attention above and beyond common curtsey.

He was his quiet self in the car. Occasionally he'd break the silence to inform me of some fact about the building of the highest railway in Europe, dates and heights and such. He also informed me that most of the railway ran through the mountain itself, and the final station was cut into the rock. So not only was I going to be cold, but now apparently I was going to be very claustrophobic. What a day of fun we had ahead of us.

We got two seats beside each other on the half full train. The view for the first part of the journey kept me occupied. Then, we plunged into the darkness of the mountain itself and the carriage lights flickered on. We kept climbing and I began to feel the altitude in my ears, the same way that you feel it during take-off in an aeroplane. I turned to Q to ask if he'd spoken to MI6 about what we'd found out about Matthieu's research but stopped, my mouth half open around the first syllable. He was scarily pale. Given that he spend most of his time indoors, it wasn't surprising that his complexion was far from swarthy. It was the grey tinge that worried me. Glancing down, I saw that his hands gripping the armrests so tightly that his knuckles were white peaks erupting from his skin.

"Are you okay?" I asked, almost immediately regretting it because okay was clearly something he was not.

"Not particularly," he replied through gritted teeth. Behind his glasses, his eyes were scrunched tightly shut. "It seems that travelling through the middle of a mountain in a train is another one of my little triggers."

"Have you taken-"

"Yes."

I felt so helpless. Patting him on the arm would be too condescending. If he had patted my arm after my freak out after the café I would have hit him. So I did something a bit more radical. Gently, I tried removing the fingers of his left hand from the armrest beside me. It was like trying to pry apart two frozen chicken breasts but eventually he let go and I put my hand in his. His fingers were as cold as ice. I hoped the human contact might cause his anxiety to regress quicker. Just as I was sure my fingers were close to falling off from loss of blood circulation, I felt his grip begin to relax.

"Feeling better?" I prompted.

"A little. Thank you." He opened his eyes, but didn't let go.

A little while later, the train came to a stop and the speaker announced in several different languages that we had reached the summit. People began to file out through the open doors. I waited; making sure that Q was alright. He sighed and stood up, and because I didn't immediately follow the distance between us broke our hands apart. I would be lying if I said I wasn't disappointed. I got up, slung my bag over my shoulder and followed him out onto the platform. Off the train, it's warmer than I expected. We trailed in the direction that everyone else was moving. As we did, the tunnel seemed to get lighter. I stretch on my toes to see, but can't see where it's coming from. Then we turn a corner and I'm momentarily blinded. As my eyes adjusted I could make out a wall of windows. What's beyond the glass came into focus and the gasp that escaped from my lips was completely involuntary. In front of me, stretching into the horizon was a pristine blanket of blue white glacier. To either side of it, the mountains exploded out of the white like shards of snow tipped steel. With nothing but blue sky above, the sun reflecting on the snow made the scene almost blinding, but I couldn't look away. I felt like I truly was at the top of Europe, if not the world.

"It's so… beautiful," I managed after what could have been anything up to several minutes of awed silence. "I had no idea that…it would be like this."

"Did you think I was taking you up to the middle of a windowless mountain? I know I'm not the most socially adept individual, but credit me with some sense of normality."

I turned to look at him, to find that he too had turned his attention away from the stunning vista. "Sorry." It was both an admission that I had underestimated him and my apology for doing so. He managed a little smug smile. With a superiority complex the size of Q's, of course he was going to get some kind of pleasure by proving me wrong. A sudden thought hit me and I fumbled through my bag. It seemed impossible to try and force such magnificence into a small camera screen, but I had to at least try. I went to the window and took a few shots, then, I handed it to Q.

"I've got to get photographic proof I was here." I began to explain which button did what but stopped short when I caught the very sour look he was giving me.

"Anna, I'm the youngest ever head MI6's technological division. I am sure I can manage a camera."

So I stood in front of the windows and smiled for the picture. "Do you want one? Show to your friends, family or whatever?" I suggested. Q gave an apathetic shrug and walked over to where I had been standing. To say he smiled for the picture would be untrue; it was more like he relaxed his face. I took three in rapid succession in case he blinked. Just then, a hand tapped my shoulder, and I turned around with surprise. An older Japanese couple stood with big grins on their faces and the woman held her hand out to me. I had no idea what she meant so I just smiled back at her. The effect must have been slightly manic because the smile didn't quite make it to my confused eyes.

"You," she pointed to the camera, and then to Q. "You go!"

Then it clicked. She was offering to take a picture of us together. With a polite laugh, I shook my head. "Oh! No, it's okay!"

The smile on her face only got bigger. "Yes, yes!" she insisted. So I gave in.

"She offered to take a picture of us together," I explained as I took up a stance beside him.

"That was generous." His response was impassive. The woman waved the hand that isn't holding the camera, indicating us to move closer together. We bumped shoulders. The woman waved again. He moved his arm out of the way and brought it to rest at my shoulder. I hooked mine lightly around his slim waist that is padded out with several layers of winter clothes. He smelled of clothes detergent and guy. The camera flashed several times and the woman walked over to return it. We dropped arms and I suddenly felt a little colder. I thanked the woman, who nodded, still smiling. I pointed to the camera that was around her husband's neck and repeated the kindness to them. As they walked away, I checked the photo of the both of us. Q peered over my shoulder and made a noise of interest.

"I may have to get that off you. My eldest brother takes particular joy in pointing out my lack of acquaintances, especially of the female gender."

"I'm all for seeing older brothers put in their place!" I laughed in response.

There was an information centre and restaurant at the top. We walked around posters that explained how, when, and why the railway was made. There are little models and old photos of the building process. We ate lunch at the restaurant, at his expense. When he suggested that I tell him my order and then reserve a seat because it was particularly full I didn't think much of it. But when I tried to ask how much I owed him when he returned with the food, he just dismissed me with a shake of his head. As we ate, he asked me when I had first discovered my aptitude for computers. I was 99.5% sure he knew about what my dad's job had been, and had read the disciplinary reports on my high school files, but I assumed this was him trying to pretend that he hadn't. So I told him.

Somehow, we managed to spend nearly the whole afternoon at the top of Europe. On the descent, I noticed that he didn't grip the seat rests in terror.

"I enjoy your company, Anna Winterman," he said as the taxi drove through the village, a few miles from the Eiger Institution. "I hope we can do something like this again soon."

"You said you might teach me to ski," I reminded him with a smile.

"I remember. But the offer isn't limited to our time here in Switzerland. I hear the Tate Britain is having some marvellous exhibitions over the coming year. "

"That sounds great!" I replied. My chest felt like it was blowing up like a balloon. I didn't have very many guys that I could call friends. The crush thing would go away eventually. Plus, if he was going to be my boss one day, it might be useful to have a good relationship with him.

The taxi pulled up to reception and I climbed out. I turned around to say my goodbye only to see him getting out his side. Without closing his door, he walked around the rear of the car. He came to a stop about a foot in front of me.

"Thank you Anna, for today. For coming, even though you supposed the day was going to be tediously dull."

"You're not going to let that go are you?" I sighed in exasperation.

"When it suits me, perhaps." He teased as he shoved his hands into the pockets of his trousers. The silence that followed was nothing short of agonising. I glanced over at a group of three girls walking through the gates with bags of shopping, on their way back to their dorms.

"I guess I'll speak to you on Monday then!" I offered, tapping the microphone earrings that I was wearing out of habit.

"Yes. Business as usual."

I waved my hand casually, "See you!" I turned to go.

"Anna," he placed his hand on my arm and I twisted back around to him, "I'm sorry that…on the train, when I…" I knew what he was going to say so I finished the sentence in my head.

"You don't have to apologise for something you can't help. It doesn't bother me at all."

Suddenly, he dipped his head beside my face and placed his lips against my cold cheek. My stomach somersaulted in my chest.

"Thank you anyway." He smiled, in that wonderful way that changed his face from serious intellectual to handsome and human. He gave a little nod of his head, "I'll speak to you Monday morning."

I walked back to my dorm in a daze of joy. I touched my cold fingers to my now warm and flushed cheeks, as if I could feel some mark left by him. However, I knew that when I came down from the euphoric high that I'd have to face the reality that he had unwittingly just extended the expiry date on my little crush by a considerable amount. But that was something to worry about tomorrow.


	10. Chapter 10

It took a little longer than I expected to come down from my post kiss high. He hadn't exactly made the earth move under my feet. However, the euphoria of feeling wanted, regardless in a platonic or romantic relationship was slow to fade. By Monday morning my cheeks were sore from smiling all day Sunday. It was moments like that, when a 23 year old couldn't sleep because every time she closed her eyes all she could do was giggle and think of a peck on the cheek that I remembered what my mother had once told me about growing up. She had said, "You know that bolt of lightening you expect to hit on one of your birthdays when you're a teenager? That magical jolt that suddenly makes you an adult? Yeah, that never happens. You never feel 'older' except maybe that people younger than you become progressively more annoying." Maybe every new crush would make me feel like this. Would I still get butterflies when I was in my thirties, forties, fifties?

There was, however, still the small matter of our first encounter, post one night stand with my best friend. I tried not to think about this as much as I could. It made me a little uncomfortable.

We exchanged our morning greetings as usual on Monday as I made my way across campus, following the tracks left in the snow from the early risers. It was coming up to 11am, just as I was about to make my way to the kitchen for a cup of tea when the server went down and the simulation I had been running crashed.

"Damnit," I groaned, pushing my hair back angrily from my face.

 _"What's wrong?"_  Q asked, concerned.

"Server is down," I replied automatically, forgetting that he only existed in my ear.

"I know." Georg's head popped over the top of the desk divide. "I was going to reset it. Would you like to come and see? It would be useful for when I am not here to save you!"

I agreed. We descended the stairs outside the computer room.

"The code is 1234," he explained as he punched the numbers, the added with a laugh, "They should really change it someday." The hallway was undecorated with exposed piping along the roof. Boxes waiting to find a proper home were stacked against the wall. The server room was hot from the constantly running computer towers. Georg showed me how to reset them safely. Even though I knew exactly what he was talking about, I saved his ego and let him explain. Even if they knew how good I was with computer programming, it always surprised people how much I knew about the actual electrical workings of a computer. Mostly I assumed their surprise originated from my gender. Whatever their reasons, it just suited me to keep the extent of my knowledge to myself.

As we walked back up the corridor, Dr Gardiner stepped out of one of the other doors. When he saw us, he closed it quickly behind him. "Georg, Anna, what are you doing down here?" He seemed very concerned about our presence despite the fact that I hadn't seen any signs to show that this part of the building was restricted.

"Server went down," Georg explained.

"And you've fixed it," his expression was harsh, like he was trying to find some reason to reprimand us.

"It should be, we're just going to check now."

"Fine." He turned on his heel and disappeared down the hall.

After we were out of earshot, I asked Georg, "Is he always so…angry?"

"He is the age to retire," he said, "But he doesn't want to go and he is always worried. At least, that is what we think upstairs." I gave a nod of understanding. "Anna, can I ask you for some help? I don't have any sisters and I don't want to tell Mama yet, but it's Carrie's birthday soon and I'm not sure what to get her."

All thoughts of Dr. Gardiner evaporated from my mind. "Of course!" I paused to think. Carrie seemed more of a 'typical' girl than I was. Whatever typical was. "It's a good place to start with something that she already has a lot of."

"She has a lot of make-up. Maybe too much for me but it is her face, she can put on whatever she likes."

I gave a dismissive shake of my head. "Makeup is very personal. Does she like any TV shows or Movies?"

"She has a lot of books." I'd never held books in as high regard as I did their visual counterparts. On print, all the characters seemed to blend together but each to their own.

"What type of books?" He shrugged. "Why don't you just ask if there is an author or a genre that she likes? She'll appreciate you asking and getting her something she really wants better than a surprise."

Georg smiled and gave a nod of his head, "You are right, of course."

I was wiping down the crumbs from my desk after lunch when I noticed a familiar warning notice had flashed up onto my screen. The server was down again. Across the room Georg said something very loud in German. Although I didn't speak two words of the language, it was clear he wasn't complimenting the computer.

"It's okay, I'll get it," I said across the room. He called back thanks. I retraced my footsteps and entered the basement. In the noisy, clammy server room, I repeated the resetting procedure. There were several switches that were 'OFF' that I was almost sure I had watched Georg switch 'ON' ealier. Out in the hallway, I caught sight of the door that Dr. Gardiner had exited hastily earlier in the day. If anyone was going to hide something, a secret operation that involved the disappearing of MI6 prodigies, this would be the place to do it. Intrigued, I crossed and tried the door. It was locked of course.

"You don't happen to know anything about how to pick a lock?" I asked Q.

_"Is it electronic?"_

"No."

_"Then I'm afraid not."_

"Well, would Bond?"

A short, sharp laugh erupted in my ear.  _"There is nothing so subtle as lock picking in 007's repertoire. He'd sooner blow the whole door off with semtex."_

"That's a no then." I tried the door again, twisting the handle and pushing harder than I had before in case it had been jammed.

"Miss Winterman?" I spun around. Dr Gardiner was standing several feet down the hallway. In the sparse lighting, I could see the thunder clouding his face. "What are you doing?"

I faltered for only a moment. "Oh, thank goodness you're here. You don't know how to get into the server room do you?"

He pointed at the door level with him. "This is the server room."

"Oh! Silly me. Everything down here looks exactly the same," I said, feigning innocence. Turning, I walked towards both him and the server room. As I passed him, he hooked his hand into the inside of my elbow and grabbed me tightly.

"Just because you're Professor Reinhard's wonder girl doesn't mean you can prance around like you own the place. Take care Miss Winterman."

He walked down to the room that I'd been attempting to break into. From his pocket he took a key, inserted it into the door and turned. With a final glare, he opened it and slammed it shut behind him. In the silence I could hear the click, indicating that he had locked it from the other side. The only other sound that could be heard was the distant hum of the fans from the server room. The earpiece crackled into life.

_"Just in case you were looking for an indication of suspicious activity… that was it."_

When I got home, there was an email waiting for me. The email address and subject heading was just a load of jumbled letters and numbers. It was a wonder it had gotten past my spam filter. I decided to read it anyway.

It read:

Anna, sorry for the strange address, it is protocol to have them untraceable. I've spoken to a few people and they assure me that the document I have attached is helpful. –Q

The PDF was a how-to on lock picking. It explained the various different household appliances you could use; including a hair pin. I thought that one was just something people in the movie business made up. It would appear not. Just then, there was a knock at my door. I opened it to see Georg, Lindsay and Mei-Lein standing there.

"It's Carrie's 21st birthday on Monday, we're going to have a skip day and take her to the ice rink" Lindsay explained.

"It's not really a skip day," Georg retorted, "Dr Gardiner is away at a conference in Zurich, and Carrie and Lindsay only have class in the morning."

"I'm the only one actually skipping anything important," Mei laughed.

"Sure, I'm in!" I agreed with a smile. Just as the door clicked back into its frame, there was a short sharp pain in my ear. I gave a yelp of surprise. Confused, I looked around, to see if there was a rogue wasp or something that I had failed to notice. I checked in the mirror, but there was no mark. Then it happened again. Another startled cry leapt from my mouth. Frantically I took out my earrings, trying to see if there was anything behind the studs that I was missing, like a cut or something. Then, the sharp pain came again, this time it shot through my fingers causing me to drop the earrings. Whatever was happening, it was my earrings that were causing it. My eyebrows were raised so far into my hairline with confusion that it almost hurt my face. Suddenly, the realisation punched me in the gut. I stormed across the room, grabbed the earpiece off my desk. Then I got down onto the floor where I'd dropped my earrings and yelled into them.

"Did you just electrocute me you little fucker?"

_"Anna, my apologies but-"_

"No, no, you don't get to get out of this by saying you're sorry."

_"If you will just let me explain. I needed to get your attention and it was the only way that I could think of at short notice."_

"This better be good Q." I fumed.

_"I know you would quite like to enjoy celebrating the anniversary of your friend's birth, however, I think it would be a great oversight of you not to take the opportunity of Dr Gardiners absence to explore that room of his."_

I heaved out a frustrated sigh. Not just because he had a point, but that it would mean having to miss out of the ice skating fun. "Yeah. Alright. I better learn how to pick a lock then."

_"It would be helpful. I'll make a note for next time to turn down the voltage on the-"_

"Oh no. There won't  _be_  a next time. If you so much as  _think_  about electrocuting me again I will knock you out, and bury you in the snow and leave you there until you're a icicle. I could do it you know, you're skinny and I can't imaging you'd put up much of a fight."

There was a pregnant pause.  _"But, how do I contact you when you're not wearing your earpiece?"_

"Like. A. Normal. Person. Here's an idea, you could call my phone!"

 _"But, I don't have your number."_ He protested.

I was so close to ripping out a chunk of hair. "You hacked my bank account and made the a Union Jack dance across the screen of an ATM. Of course you know my number."

_"You said that I should stop hacking you to get your information."_

I wanted to scream. "There is a time and a place. If you really need to call me then it  _is_  okay to break into my government file and get-" I broke off having heard what could only be a poorly concealed snigger. I took in a deep breath. "You're just messing with me aren't you?"

_"Perhaps."_

I wanted to strangle him. "You're such an asshole," I yelled. Then, as I reached to pull out the earpiece, he had his defiant last say. He electrocuted me again. Using a discarded T-shirt, I bundled up the earpiece and earrings and stuffed them under the bed. The most annoying thing of all was that, he could zap me as much as he liked with his gadgets, and it wouldn't come close to the buzz I'd felt with his lips against my cheek.


	11. Chapter 11

When Mei knocked on my door at 10am on Monday, I shuffled up to answer wrapped in a nightgown and looking as dishevelled as I possibly could. The 'fake' sick was an art that I had spent most of my teenage years perfecting. First of all, I would pat my hair down with wet hands to make it look as though I'd been sweating. Next was the ever so subtle addition of dark brown eye shadow under my eyes for the appearance of a sleepless night. The icing on my cake of deception was to move like each of my limbs was twice it's normal weight. I was no actress, but I was quite good at pretending to be sick. What I didn't expect was for her to come back ten minutes later with a cup of tea and some DVD's. For the first time ever, I felt guilty pretending to be ill. One by one, everyone in the flat came to wish me a speedy recovery. When, after an hour of waiting they finally left, I sprang to my feet and threw on clothes and headed across campus. If anyone who had gone to Carrie's ice rink party had decided to come back for a forgotten phone or camera, I would have looked like the world's worst workaholic. Thankfully, none of them came back. In the office I didn't want to raise suspicions by appearing and disappearing again almost immediately so I worked for the better part of an hour. There was no hope of me getting any  _actual_  work done so instead, I went over the rules for lock picking in my head again and again.

Finally, feeling like I'd given it enough time, I slipped out into the hallway and down the stairs to the basement. The empty grey concrete hall suddenly looked sinister. My heart was a loud roar in my ear behind the earpiece I'd reluctantly put in. In front of Dr. Gardiner's mysterious room I pulled some pins from my hair. The section of blonde fell regimentally straight again and hung in front of my face as I leaned over the lock, bending the pins into position.

_"Have you started yet?"_

"Give me a chance!" I hissed.

_"Statistically speaking, you probably won't get it correct on the first try, so don't be discouraged if you fail a few times."_

"Me, discouraged? After a statement like that, how could I be?" I muttered not even trying to veil my sarcasm in the slightest.

I inserted the first pin and twisted it to the left until I met resistance. Then I placed the second pin in, all the way to the back. In the diagram it had shown me how all the pins in a lock clicked into place at different levels. I began to use the pin to feel around in the lock, keeping the first pin on the tension. It had looked so simple on the diagrams but the real thing was something completely different. I wished that I practiced, but all the locks in the dorms were card entry. For several moments I fumbled uselessly with the pin in the lock, looking unsuccessfully for the little barrels. With a heavy sigh I took the pins out and sat onto the floor.

_"Have you done it?"_

"What do you think?" I snapped. Frustrated I ran my fingers through my hair and slapped my hands against my thighs. With a deep breath, I rolled back onto my knees and started again. This time, after raking through the lock, I found two of the five pins. My heart quickened with excitement. Maybe I could actually do this. I took in another calming breath. Three pins. Four. There was one more click and the resistance on my left hand disappeared and the lock turned. A little noise of delight erupted from the back of my throat.

_"What is it?"_

"I'm in!"

I pushed the door open into blackness. On the wall, I fumbled for the light switch. The tubes blinked slowly into life. Inside was a perfectly ordinary looking store room with numerous boxes on metal shelves. Quietly, I closed the door behind me so as not to attract attention from passers by. I peeked into one of the boxes on the shelves. It was full of stationery, exercise books, paper, box files. I walked back between the shelves to make sure I hadn't missed anything.

"There's nothing here," I said incredulously, "It's just a store room!"

_"What?"_

"It's nothing but a small square room full of books and pens and paper." I sat down hard on a stool that I presumed was used for getting to higher shelves. This was it. I had been pinning all my hopes on there being a big folder in the middle of the room with 'Top secret file of why people are going missing' written on it. But it was a store cupboard. I'd successfully broken into a cupboard. So much for my promising career in espionage. I let out a groan of frustration and dropped my head into my hands. I don't know how long I was sat like that, feeling useless, when Q spoke again.

_"Anna, what shape did you say the room was?"_

I looked up, and quickly around at the four close walls. "Square. Why?"

_"I am looking at the blueprints and it is a long, rectangular room. There must be a fake wall in there opposite the door."_

I sprang to my feet and rushed over to the shelves against the back wall. A secret wall. Just when I thought I had single-handedly ruined an operation by the British Secret Service, I had accidentally stumbled onto something real. If there was a  _hidden room_  then there had to be something seriously wrong going on down here. Running my hands over the shelves, I looked for anything unnatural about the arrangements or the joins. But this wall looked just like each of the others.

"Any ideas how to find a secret door?" I asked Q.

_"You could attempt checking for any rushing air?"_

I pushed the boxes out of the way and pressed my palm against the back wall starting at the left hand corner and working my way across. About three quarters of the way to the other wall there was a noticeable temperature change. I tapped my finger along the wall, and where the wall felt warmer the sound became hollow. I grabbed the shelves and shook them to see if they would move but they didn't. The tension was unbearable. I was so close. I ran my nail along the wall checking for a groove. When I found one I followed it with my finger as high as I could, and as low as I could.

"This is maddening!" I grunted and kicked the base of the shelves. There was a click and the unit in front of me suddenly moved forward a fraction.

"Woah."

_"What? What happened?"_

"I think I'm in."

"That's… brilliant! What do you see?"

I pushed and the door portion of the wall swung open to darkness. I looked again for a switch and flicked it on when my hands found it. Lights hummed into life, revealing a mostly bare room. The exception lay in the middle, where a monstrous contraption of leads and wires stood. It looked like a ghastly hybrid between a dentist chair and an operating table. I couldn't even begin to imagine the uses for all the leads and silent machines that stood around it, disconnected and dead. I described it to him.

"Two by two, hands of blue," I added with sadistic amusement.

_"What?"_

"Nothing. It's a line from a TV show. Science fiction, though," I paused raking my eyes over the thing, "I'm starting to doubt the fiction part."

 _"See if you can find any notes,"_ he instructed.

However hard I tried to move, I found that my feet were frozen to the floor. I couldn't take my eyes off the machine in front of me. All the saliva had drained from my mouth, making it horribly dry and sticky. Images of Michael post-car accident flashed across my mind. I could see his broken and battered body lying still, countless tubes of different colours coming from all parts of his body. The hiss of the ventilator as it filled and emptied his chest of air. My big, strong brother looking pathetically small and weak. The fear came back I suddenly felt like there was a brick on my chest and I could no longer breathe. "I don't like this. I want to leave."

_"Anna, you can leave any time you want. But you're already in and if you can find some indication of what exactly is going on here, it would be a great help. Tell me about this TV programme while you look."_

I took a deep breath. "So, you've really never seen Firefly?"

 _"Never,"_  the earpiece responded,  _"I can't say I much enjoy science fiction."_

"The writing is very clever though," I persisted, taking a few steps towards the only other piece of furniture in the room; a desk that was placed against the far wall, "you might appreciate that. Have you seen anything written by Joss Wheadon?"

_"I am not familiar with their work."_

"We really need to widen your repertoire of TV and movies."

_"Better men have tried and failed."_

I lowered my voice to a teasing whisper, "You're forgetting one thing. I'm not a man."

 _"Oh no,"_  he responded matching my playful tone,  _"Of that, I'm well aware."_

Heat prickled my cheeks and my lips began to twitch into a smile that refused to be suppressed. "I do believe you're flirting, Mr Quartermaster."

_"That all depends."_

"On what?"

_"Is it working?"_

It took all my strength to stop from giggling. Even if he was just teasing me to calm me down, it was working. All my muscles had loosened up and I crossed the room to the desk. Pages were scattered across it, some having fallen onto the floor. Most of them seemed to be schematics for the horrific chair and mathematical equations that were nothing but gibberish to me.

"You left the light on, you dumb fuck."

I froze at the unfamiliar voice coming from the outer room. My heart guttered like a candle and I looked wildly around the room for somewhere to hide. With no other option, I dropped to the floor and crawled into the space under the desk, pulling my legs up close against my chest.

"I didn't leave the light on," a second voice exclaimed. "It must have been you."

_"Anna, who's there? What's going on?"_

I clamped my hand over my mouth to keep any noise from even breathing at a minimum. The footsteps came nearer and I tried to make myself even smaller by squeezing my limbs together tighter until it was painful.

"We'll have to come back later to get the chair. It's too big for this run. Unplug the leads and take the other bits."

"Does the desk need moved?"

My stomach heaved and my heart lurched together, and I felt like I was going to vomit. No,  _please,_  not the desk.

"I don't know. I can check." Footsteps came closer still and the wood panelling above my head gave a creak as weight was put on it. I held my breath and shut my eyes tight, waiting for the moment when someone would grab my arm and pull me from my hiding place. There was a muffled dialling tone on a phone.

_"Anna, what is going on?"_

"Just wondering, do you need the desk that's in here? Yeah… yeah. Sure. Okay." The phone call ended with a beep. "Yeah, he needs it. You take the other end. Lift on three."

I had never been so scared in my life. I had two options. Give myself up now, or wait until they discovered me when they moved the desk. My legs were cramped up too much, I knew making a run for it would never work.

"One."

My lungs burned from having held my breath and I would have been perfectly okay if the floor opened up and swallowed me then and there.

"Two."

"Wait!" I cried. In the second after I made my decision I had felt completely calm, but the serenity was fleeting.

"What the fuck?"

Two heads appeared into my limited view as they both checked under the desk.

"Jesus fucking Christ," one swore as his hand flew to his chest. I tried to judge my fate by their reactions. Mostly they just looked surprised.

"What are you doing under there?" the other asked as I crawled out from the table, still with the pages in my hand.

_"Anna, there is a removals van parked outside the building. There is a good probability that they are just moving the stuff and don't know anything."_

I swallowed before I spoke. "I came down to get some stuff from the store room and the light was on and the door was open," all my words ran together, "and I was curious and then I heard you coming and thought I was in trouble."

"Fucking students," one muttered under his breath to his buddy. The second glared at the first, as though he was blaming him for leaving the lights on and the doors open. He turned to me.

"Unless you're going to help, then could you please get off out of our way?"

I nodded quickly and made for the door. "Sorry!" I called over my shoulder as I half walked, half jogged out of the room.

When I reached the stairwell, I finally allowed myself to breathe. All the bones seemed to melt out of my body and I collapsed against the handrail.

"That was far too close," I sighed, putting one hand on my forehead.

_"Did you get anything?"_

"A few bits of paper. I don't know if it's anything useful."

_"It's the best we've got so far. Meet me in town and you can tell me everything. We can discuss it over food or coffee if you like."_

"I'm going to need something a  _lot_  stronger than coffee."

He made a noise that was almost a laugh.  _"I'll see what I can do."_


	12. Chapter 12

We met at the other side of town from the café disaster with Bond. Oddly, I hadn't heard anything more about that particular incident. Not from Q or as gossip around the University. It had obviously been hushed up pretty well. Despite the offer of food, I declined. I didn't think my stomach could handle anything after everything that had happened. Instead, I just sipped at a cup of hot tea and allowed it to melt away the ice around my muscles. Frozen with fear is just an expression until you've actually been  _that_  afraid. As we sat, Q flicked through the notes that I had managed to salvage from the hidden room. I looked up, watching as his green eyes flicked back and forth across the text behind his lenses. His brow was furrowed pensively. He managed to look somewhat of a mix between intelligent and lost puppy. Just then, he met my eyes and I looked away, suddenly embarrassed.

"Found anything useful?" I asked, thinking quickly of something to say. He held my gaze for a beat longer then pushed one of the pages towards me.

"I will need someone to verify this, but I think we have discovered some illegal human testing."

My mouth fell open into a disgusted O.  _"What?"_

He pointed out various points on the diagram of the chair. "These parts here, and here lead me to believe that whoever designed this meant for it to be used for some invasive medical procedures around the head and neck area."

"That's…horrible!" was all I could manage. "So is this it? Have we got Dr Gardiner and whoever it is helping him?"

Q made a face that didn't exactly fill me with confidence. "Not exactly. You said you saw this chair fully built?"

"It's not exactly something I would forget in a hurry," I snapped, remembering how the sight of it had thrown me. How it had given me horrific flashbacks of seeing my brother after the accident that had robbed him of most of his mind. 

"Of course," he mumbled, pushing his glasses further up the bridge of his nose, "but the presence of removal men lead me to believe that they've moved the chair to a new and unknown location. Without the chair itself, it's just your word and a diagram that anyone could have drawn. It's a pity I didn't give you a tracker. This whole thing could have been wrapped up."

"How could you have overlooked something like that?"

He opened his mouth to reply, didn't, and shot me a confused look. "Were you being sarcastic?"

"Yes!" I groaned. He took a sip of his tea and began shuffling the papers into a neat stack, taping them with his long and elegant fingers. He put them out of sight into his satchel. 

"I'll need to check the records of the delivery company to see if we can trace where the items were being moved to. It will be a relatively simple process if the records are electronic. If not we'll have to make alternative arrangements. You've proven you are quite adept at breaking and entering."

With a groan I let my head fall onto my arms on the table. In the movies running around being a spy looked cool, sexy. I didn't know how utterly terrifying it would be. An uncomfortable throb was beginning to develop across my forehead. It was probably the stress.

"Anna?"

I gave a grunt in reply, to show that I was listening. He put his hand on my arm and shook a little. Clearly he wanted my full attention. I propped my chin on my arm and looked up at him. He was doing that half smile thing again and I could never quite be sure if it was contentment or a self-satisfied smirk. Whatever emotion, it still made me happy to look at him.

"I've come to a decision." He hesitated and adjusted the frames of his glasses again. When the pause ran on too long, I prompted him with "What?" He cleared his throat. "I've decided, if it is something that would interest you also, that I would like to engage in a relationship of a more… personal nature."

My brain gave a little hiccup. That was the only way to explain it. There are many people out there who compare the brain to a computer. Mine had frozen and I'd forgotten the command keys to force a manual reboot. Apparently oblivious to my mental flailing, he continued calmly.

"Now I realise that is a very open ended offer and usually these sorts of things have certain parameters. I would be quite happy in any capacity, whether that is in the traditional sense…"

"Are you… asking me out?" I interrupted, my mouth and brain finally making some sort of connection.

"If that's what works best for you. Though, if the normal 'dating' route is not to your preference I am open to a casual arrangement. I believe the colloquial term is 'friends with benefits'?"

I held my hand up in front of his face as my face exploded into heat. "Stop!" I brought my voice down to a hiss, "Q, you don't just… announce that kind of thing to someone! Especially not in the middle of a freaking  _café_."

He frowned, "Why not?"

"I… don't know, but you just don't! Normally you just wait to see how things develop and go from there?"

"That sounds highly irrational and above all a waste of time. With a few sentences we know exactly where we stand with each other and if we agree, we can progress in a mutually beneficial manner."

I opened my mouth to protest but found myself without a valid counter. Just because it wasn't the 'normal' way of doing things didn't mean it was wrong. With an annoying calmness, he took another sip of tea and watched me patiently. "Q, I don't even know you're real name," I sighed. My heart was hammering so hard it was making my head hurt even more. I liked him. I  _like_  liked him. But there was something not quite right. Something holding me back. I couldn't be sure it was the name thing, but it was a good place to start.

"That's a security issue."

"Security be damned, you can't start a relationship of any  _parameters_  with someone whose name you don't know!" He looked away, past my face and into the middle distance. His face was impossible to read. He didn't seem to be hurt at all, more like mildly inconvenienced. "Look," I continued, rubbing my forehead to try and disperse the tension, "I've had a really long, bad day. At one point I thought I was going to die. This isn't the time for this conversation."

"Of course," he agreed with annoying politeness, "Take as much time as you need."

I would be lying if I said I wasn't a little disappointed that he hadn't put up any sort of fight. But this  _was_  Q. He was too calculating and rational to fuss. And it annoyed me more than it should have. There were so many conflicting emotions going on in my brain that I wasn't even sure I knew up from down anymore. The headache was just the pinnacle of the strangest day I think I'd ever had.

"Would you like me to bring up the subject again in the future, or would you prefer to do that yourself?"

"Whatever," I breathed, then realising I sounded like I was being derisive and rude, I added quickly, "works for you." He nodded and drained the last of his tea.

"I have some errands to do in town. You are welcome to join me?"

"No thanks. I think I'm just going to head back to my room."

"I'll contact you when I find anything out about the removal company."

We parted with awkward goodbyes. Was I being an idiot? If it was any other day would I have said yes in a heartbeat? I spent the mile walk back to the dorms debating. What if it was just a superficial crush that was rooted in our unusual circumstances? If we were office colleagues would I look at him twice? It was impossible to answer, but the question burned on in my mind regardless. Part of me was also irritated at the way he'd gone about it. In one breath he had asked to start a relationship with me, and in the next he had more or less said, "But just sex is okay too." There was nothing about feelings. Maybe this was just how he was. Perhaps emotions were too unpredictable for him so he just didn't bother including them in his day to day activities. There were several red flags being waved in my mind but they didn't override the fact that deep down he had to feel  _something_  for me. He wouldn't have bothered asking me otherwise. He was certainly an enigma and after the weeks that we'd spent together, I didn't look anywhere near close to cracking it. To add to my confusion, today's events had thrown up another layer of encryption and I wondered if I would ever solve it, or if I would just have to accept that I would never truly know the real him.

Everything in the dorm was quiet. Obviously my flatmates hadn't returned from the outing. I slipped into my room. By this point my headache was so bad that I was having trouble concentrating. I popped a painkiller, slipped out of my clothes, fumbled with my earrings, and climbed into bed without bothering with my nightclothes. At some point I drifted into consciousness to laughter and the slamming of doors. The next thing I remembered it was morning and I woke with a head that felt like it was made of syrup. My throat burned and my nose was impossible to breathe through. It seemed that I'd been served up a dose of instant karma for pretending to be sick the previous day. The Universe was playing some sort of cruel joke on me. Groggily, I searched through the pile of clothes beside my bed for my phone. It was shortly after 11am and I had slept through several alarms. I crawled back under the still warm sheets and decided to take another day off. There was no way I was fit for sitting at a computer screen all day. I was almost asleep again when I heard my name. The surprise had me instantly awake and I sat bolt upright, completely confused. Was I hallucinating?

_"Anna, are you awake?"_

Something between a sigh and a groan escaped my mouth. I'd forgotten to take out the earpiece. I padded across the room to retrieve the mic earrings and set them down on my bedside table as I got back into bed again.

"Yeah, I am." My voice was croaky with a touch of self-pity thrown in for good measure.

_"I was just confirming that you were all right. You didn't get up this morning and I was concerned that you were unwell."_

"I think I have a bit of a head cold," I mumbled. "Wait… how did you know that I didn't get up this morning?" I meant to sound accusing, but instead my thick voice made me sound a little pathetic.

_"Your morning routine has a very distinctive sound from the box where you keep the earrings. Also, your earpiece may or may not have a tracker."_

"Wonderful. I don't feel violated at  _all_."

He completely disregarded my comment.  _"Also, the same temperature sensor that tells me whether or not you're wearing your earpiece is showing a slight increase in body temperature indicating that you might have a slight fever."_

"Does it also tell you when I'm angry because I think that might be a more useful indicator for you to measure right now?"

He tried to placate me with excuses,  _"It's for your own safety!"_

"It's your safety you should be concerned about when I have the energy to get out of bed." Fighting with him was taking up too much energy that I had otherwise allocated to getting better, so I let him continue unhindered.

_"I did some research last night into the name of the removal company. There were some interesting results. They don't appear to exist. There is no registered address. Either they're a company made up purely for the purposes of transporting the items from the basement, or, they're trying to dodge taxes. Because a company trying to evade taxation would be unlikely to display their business on the side of their van, I am more inclined to the first option."_

My head was beginning to hurt from all the extra information. "Q, I'm sick. I don't want to talk shop."

 _"No, I just said they don't have a shop, or any registered premises."_ The colloquialism sailed right over his head.

"You know, for a genius, you're not that smart."

_"I don't understand."_

"It's not important. I'm going back to sleep."

_"Very well. Feel better soon."_

I grunted my response before taking out the earpiece. In a few short moments, I'd drifted off to sleep again.

Hunger was the only motivation that managed to drag me from bed over the following days. My diet was pretty poor, consisting of anything that could be cooked in under 10 minutes. I got Carrie to go to the shops for me to replenish my stock of instant noodles and get more milk as I was constantly drinking tea to sooth my raw throat. The few days break gave me an opportunity to catch up on all the TV that I had missed since my move to the Eiger. I gave both mum and Lucy a call to spread my self-pity around. By the weekend, I was feeling marginally better. On Sunday night I decided that it was time to show my face in the office and decided to go in the next morning. Almost immediately after I put the earpiece in, Q asked me how I was. I'd been avoiding talking to him because of how our conversation in the café had gone, but mostly because I wanted placated for my illness and I didn't think sympathy was abundant in his limited emotional range. I replied that I was better and that was that.

I had barely sat down when Dr Gardiner descended on me. "Miss Winterman," he said with an air of superiority, "Your absence has been duly noted. Care to explain yourself?"

"I was sick."

"We have gone out of our way to accommodate you and your 'research' at the Eiger. If you are just going to piss away your semester in your dorm room, you might as well go back to England."

"I was sick," I repeated, gritting my teeth against the plethora of curses trying to escape my mouth. Both Dr. Gardiner and myself would have had to be stupid not to notice that the entire room had gone quiet to eavesdrop on our conversation.

"My office, 10am tomorrow. I want you to show me tangible proof of the progress you've made on your thesis since you got here."

"Certainly," I replied icily. Challenge accepted asshole. He turned and went back down the room to his office. If it weren't for the safety hinge that had been installed, I'm sure he would have slammed it. Not caring that the whole office was watching me, I stood up and stormed out into tht hall and into the toilet. I ran the tap until the water was frigid and dunked my head into the icy water. It shocked some of the rage out of me, but not nearly enough. Shaking, I gripped onto the porcelain sink and looked into the mirror. Bits of my blonde hair were plastered against my wet face and the look in my own eyes scared me a little.

"Q, did you get all of that?"

_"Yes."_

"Good. Now let's get to work. I want to bring that bastard down."

_"With pleasure."_


	13. Chapter 13

I went to work as soon as I got in the door. Dr Gardiner had done something stupid. He had pissed me off and I was ready to show him what was what. However as time ticked on and my anger subsided, I remembered exactly how little progress I'd actually made. I had endless results from simulations I had run, but none had been very successful. My earlier bravado was slipping away and I started to become genuinely concerned. What if he did send me back home? If I got kicked out of the Eiger it would be a black spot on my record. More importantly though, all the progress I had made with helping Q get to the bottom of the disappearing students would be gone. I had a sneaking suspicion that with it, the job offer for MI6 might also mysteriously vanish. I spent a good few hours getting everything together into some kind of coherent order. Once I had jotted down a few notes on what I wanted to say, I finally crawled into bed. The illness still had me drained and I fell asleep immediately.

In the morning I got up and gathered my stuff together as I battled against the heaving knots in my stomach. I wasn't certain that he could actually get me kicked out of University for my work. Research was about asking questions and most of the time the answer to 'Will this work' is 'no'. But the thought plagued me none the less. I arrived fifteen minutes before the agreed time and sat on the chair outside his office. A girl whose name I couldn't remember caught my eye and gave a sympathetic smile before turning quickly away. At five to the hour, Dr Gardiner showed up and held the door open for me, without saying a word. I straightened up before walking in. For what felt like an age I talked through my thesis on reducing the size of data storage by use of compression algorithms. I ran through my simulations, showing the results of data compression. I could get the amount of data down, the problem was restoring the files to their original sizes again. Most of the programmes suffered some key data loss. I was confident, even if I hadn't been successful. I was poised and ready to pounce at any attempts to knock my work. However, Dr. Gardiner just sat there and listened with intent. When I finished I stood there and waited for him to respond.

"It's good," he muttered, just a little reluctantly. I didn't even know I'd been holding my breath until I let out a sigh of relief. If my feet hadn't been planted quite so firmly, I would have fallen over from his, what you could describe as, compliment. "I want you to make a real effort to solve the data loss problem on the un-compression step. Don't be afraid to ask around the office and see if anyone else has any ideas as to why this is happening. I know this is your research, but it can't hurt to try."

"Thanks," I managed, still shocked by his sudden development of a personality.

"I'm always hard on transfers Anna," he added as I packed up my notes, "Too many students come here looking for an extended skiing holiday."

I nodded to show that I understood and left. Georg caught me before I made it back to my desk.

"You are alive!" he cheered, punching a fist in the air.

"He wasn't mean at all," I mused. "He actually talked to me like I was a human being and not a piece of dirt he'd scraped off his shoe."

"He just takes his time with new people."

We kept talking for a while, and I decided to implement his advice by asking for help. Georg understood the problem, but didn't have a solution to offer.

 _"That went unusually well,"_ Q commented when Georg had gone back to his own desk.

"Tell me about it," I muttered.

_"If you are interested, I have made some progress on the whereabouts of the removal company."_

I picked up my mobile and went into the hallway so that people wouldn't think I was talking to myself. "Go on," I prompted.

_"Well I've figured out how we can trace the location of where they delivered to."_

"Great!"

_"Don't sound so enthusiastic. It's not as simple as you might think. We can follow the van as it appears on CCTV and narrow down the area of location."_

"What's so complicated? CCTV is like, the easiest thing to hack into." I had personal experience; Mostly trying to remove myself from school camera footage when I'd been up to no good.

 _"It's not the logistics, but rather, the red tape that it's wrapped up in. We're flying under the radar and therefore haven't contacted the Swiss government to let them know of our operation. If I were to access their records, I would be breaking several international treaties and if caught I would personally bring hell down on MI6._ " Yet he didn't sound defeated.

"I feel like there's a 'but' coming."

_"You're very perceptive Anna. Yes, there is a sort of loop hole. You are not MI6. You have no official association with us… yet" He added and I mentally punched the air. The job was still on the table. "If you were caught accessing the footage, you would be in trouble, but wouldn't cause international conflict."_

"Isn't Switzerland famous for being non-confrontational?"

_"That's just what they want you to believe."_

There was silence as I considered. It wouldn't be difficult, just time consuming.  
"Wouldn't you have some sort of programme to monitor licence plates on footage to save the trouble of trawling through hours of video?"

On the other end of the line, Q cleared his throat. _"My official answer is no. However, tonight I have to lower my firewall for a few hours to run some diagnostics. If someone was to find such a programme on my hard drive, I wouldn't be accountable."_

"Thanks."

_"I have no idea what for, but you're welcome all the same."_

With the push I was making on my research during the day and the searching through all the footage and night, I barely had time to eat, sleep and breathe. Each day blended into the next. My brain was completely fried and I had almost forgotten about how – in his own special way – Q had asked me out. I hadn't given him an answer yet. The just sex thing was totally off the cards. Maybe it was old fashioned of me, but I felt it was something that had to be done in a relationship with all the strings still attached. I'd had a one night stand once, and although it was consensual, it was possibly one of the worst experiences of my life. I liked Q, I defiantly did. But thinking about it logically, I wasn't sure if I liked the idea of him more than the reality. His awkwardness and social shortcomings were endearing. However, I doubted whether I could put up with them for any length of time. On the other hand, if I left it too long, we'd have spent too much time being 'friends' and I would begin to think of him more like a brother and less like a potential romantic interest. I'd always wonder, 'What if?' I rested my forehead against the cold concrete wall. For a moment, I wondered if I could bang it hard enough to knock out all of the teenage angst. Maybe then I could deal with the situation like the adult I was supposed to be. But no guy was worth me risking my I.Q. so I decided against it and went back to my work.

Even with the software I had procured from Q, it was clear a few days in how long it would take to sift through all the video. He had leant me a 10 terabyte hard drive to store all the video footage. If my research worked, I would need such a whopping great storage space for all the video but for now, I would have to have it humming away on my desktop. A week in, I didn't even bother shutting off my computer, letting it instead run the number plate software all day and all night. I'd had a handful of hits, but they were only on the inner city CCTV and that told me nothing. It was the rural video that would really allow us to narrow down where the drop off was. I'd split my screen and was watching a movie on one half, while monitoring for hits on the other. Just then, a pop up asked me to put in my earpiece. At least he'd stopped electrocuting me every time he wanted to talk to me.

"Hey."

 _"How is the surveillance going?"_ he enquired.

"Slow," I mumbled over the mouth full of cookie dough ice cream.

_"I have a suggestion then. Could you perhaps leave the software to run over the weekend? The ski season is ending soon and I do believe I promised to teach you."_

The ice cream suddenly froze to the roof of my mouth and I tried not to choke. I swallowed the big lump, instantly condemning myself to brain freeze.

"Sure," I said as a cold shudder went through me. "I'm going to warn you, I'm an impossible student."

_"I relish a challenge."_

* * *

 

Snow looks soft and fluffy, that is, until you slam into it at speed. I had tripped on my own ski, yet again, and gone into it face first. I'd given a small scream of fright as I fell, so naturally now I had a mouthful of snow. I pushed myself up and spat out the slush. I tried to manoeuvre the skis from the tangle of my legs. I heard him and looked up just in time to be showered with a fresh covering as Q skidded gracefully to a stop. He adjusted his goggles so they balanced on his helmet. Then, with a gloating smile, he leant forward on his poles and looked down at me.

"Perhaps snowboarding would be more suited to you?" he suggested.

"Apparently that's even harder," I sulked. I took off my rented goggles and helmet to let my skin breathe for a moment.

"I'm lead to believe that. However, I do believe I've seen you fall over in every possible way on skis. Eventually its ability to amuse me will diminish, so that's why I'm suggesting it."

Without thinking about it twice, I hooked one of my ski pole around his and pulled. He'd been leaning all his weight on them, and pitched forward into the snow beside me.

"Amusing enough for you now?" I asked smugly.

He wiped snow from his glasses, and looked at me with shock. Then, he broke into a laugh and rolled onto his back, moving his skis out of the way. It was infectious and no matter how sore I was from all my falls, I began to laugh too. For a while, we just lay there in the snow, laughing. The slopes were almost empty, so we weren't getting in anyone's way. When he stopped, he took off the thick glove of his right hand and offered it to me.

"What?" I asked eyeing it like it was some sort of trick.

"What do you usually do when someone offers you their hand?"

Taking the bait, I took off the corresponding glove and shook it.

"Emerson Holmes. Nice to finally meet you, Anna." For a moment, I had no idea what was going on. Then, it settled over me and I could feel my eyebrows disappear up into my hair without the power to stop them. In the same instance that I knew his name, his real name, I just knew what I had to do. There was only one way to find out if his little quirks would be too much for me. My chest filled up like a balloon and my face burst into a grin.

"It's not that bad," he said indignantly, pulling on his glove again.

"No, it's not your name," I replied with a laugh. "I just…" I paused for a moment, then, threw caution to the wind. I grabbed the neck of his ski jacket and pulled him towards me. Just above his scarf I found his lips and kissed him. "Thank you for telling me."

"That was a… pleasant surprise," was all he could manage. He tilted his head to the side, "I take it now is an appropriate time to broach the subject of furthering our relationship?"

"It's a yes. But, let's just take it slow, okay?" I hoped that was all that needed to be said.

"Okay." He leant in and kissed me again, like he'd wanted to kiss me for a lifetime. I laughed half from joy, half from the ridiculous way in which he was attacking my mouth with his. I put the cold tips of my fingers to his lips.

"What was that I just said about taking it slow?"

"Sorry. I'm a bit out of practice."

"Well there's plenty of time for that later. Right now, I have the rest of a mountain to fall down."


	14. Chapter 14

I had to be dying. That was the first thought that entered my head as I woke up the next morning. There was no possible way that I could be in so much pain and not be in some way heading towards the white light at the end of the tunnel. But as I opened my eyes, it was clear that it wasn't a tunnel, just the glare from the snow shining in through the window. My thighs and arms burned like hellfire. I tested each limb out tentatively and I was not even surprised to find aches in places I didn't even know I had muscles. I should have paid more attention in Biology. To add insult to injury, somewhere underneath my aching abdominal muscles my stomach gave a lurch informing me that I was hungry. I gathered myself together and rolled out of bed. I did some sort of hybrid crawl, shimmy across the room to the duffel bag and retrieved my slippers and dressing gown. It wasn't a heat thing; the Holmes' cabin had a more than adequate heating system. I just didn't feel comfortable walking around in just my nightclothes. It had been less than 24 hours since I'd agreed to date him - or at least whatever came closest to dating in Q's rather unique mind. I had to respect some sort of boundaries. 

With some difficulty I managed to get to my feet. I debated stretching to try and warm up, but the thought reminded me too much of P.E. lessons at school, which I had vehemently hated, and I decided just to grin and bear it. I walked out of the room and began gingerly down the stairs. Each step sent a fresh wave of hell up my legs. Q had told me that the bedroom I had been sleeping in was the room his two brothers had shared when they'd used the cabin growing up. The master bedroom where he had been was downstairs, along with the bathroom and open plan kitchen living room area. The whole place was unoriginally furnished in pine, except for the big stone fireplace that was currently roaring away merrily. Q was sitting at the kitchen table, already dressed, reading something on an iPad. He looked up as the stair underneath me creaked.

"Ah, so you're not going to spend the whole day in bed," he smirked, returning to the screen. The screen reflected in his glasses and I could see that he was reading the electronic newspaper. I shuffled across the room to the kitchen and flicked the kettle on and opened a loaf of bread we'd bought the previous day and popped two pieces into the toaster.

"I probably will, once I've had food."

"There are exercises that you could have done to strengthen your quad and calf muscles to avoid the rather uncomfortable situation you're in now."

I slapped my hand down on the breakfast bar and look across at him with murder in my eyes. "You mean there was a way to prevent the  _agony_  I'm in right now?"

"Would you have done them anyway?" He countered, readjusting his glasses.

Too exhausted to argue, I admitted he was probably right. When faced with the choice between physical exercise and anything else, I go with the second option. My lack of physical fitness was going to come back and bite me in the butt one day. But as long as today was the worst of it, I could probably survive.

"I assume that you won't be joining me again today?"

I laughed through a mouthful of toast at the suggestion. "Thanks, but no. Maybe some other weekend, when my legs have forgiven me."

He pressed the lock button and set his iPad down. "Well if you don't mind, I'd like to get in a few runs before we leave later."

I waved him off with a hand. "Go ahead."

He got up and set his dishes in the sink then into his bedroom to put on his ski gear. I grabbed the iPad, and tried to unlock, but it was code protected. Instead, I decided to get up and be nosey. After the skiing yesterday, we'd eaten at the lodge and by the time we got back to the chalet I just about managed to make it up to the bedroom before collapsing and falling asleep immediately. The thought of doing anything else, all alone in the romantic winter cabin hadn't even crossed my mind. Besides, I wasn't the type to leap into bed with someone. I was a slow burn, and we'd only just lit the candle.

Most of the photos and artwork were vague, neutral; mountains in various seasons. However, there was a photo of three boys all in ski gear sitting on the mantlepiece The heat from the fire warmed me right through as I studied it. The banner hung on the lodge behind them announced New Year's '93. It showed a young man, early twenties at a guess, a sulky teenager, and a boy no older than ten. It looked like I'd found Q and his mysterious brothers.

"I'll be back soon," he called as he crossed from the hall to the door. Then, seeming to change his mind, he turned back and walked towards me. Leaning down and pressed his lips for a brief moment to mine. My heart began fluttering. I wondered if it would ever get used to it. "Thank you for coming, even if skiing doesn't appear to agree with you."

"You sound like you've given up on me. Let me recover and I'll be back out there," I teased, enjoying the giddy rush the kiss had given me. He smiled and headed for the door.

"I won't be gone too long."

"Oh, by the way, what's the code for your iPad? I want to check my emails but left my laptop at the University."

He glanced over his shoulder, then with a smirk replied, "It's my birthday," and shut the door behind him.

I didn't know his birthday. I didn't even know his age. What would my mother say if she knew I was shacked up, in the physical if not literal sense, with a relative stranger? With a sigh, I flopped down into one of the armchairs and munched my now cold and soggy piece of toast. At the far side of the room I eyed the bookshelf. With a spark of genius I thought to rummage through them. It was something my dad had always done when he bought me a book was to write the year and occasion on the inside cover. With any luck, one of these books was a birthday present to Q. On the bottom shelf in among a scattering of children's books, second to last a Goosebumps book yielded exactly that. From 'Mother and Father'. It would have been difficult to imagine the parents who had brought up the prim and proper Emerson Holmes, would have been buying him books about things that go bump in the night.

I had the date, September 2nd but not the year. I tried a few combinations near the age I guessed he was in the photo and unlocked the iPad on the third try with 2983. Just as I opened, an email flashed up. I meant to hit the dismiss button, honestly, but missed and opened the email instead.

 _Q,_  
Eiger operation taking too long. Need you back at HQ ASAP.  
M.

I stared at the sentence long message. That was it? I'd failed? Or did it just mean that Q had to go back to London, and that I was on my own. A dark cloud descended on my mood as I locked the iPad again and threw it down onto the seat beside me, uninterested in anything else. I felt like a child that had just been scolded. But why was I angry? Yes, Q would probably have to leave, but I wasn't supposed to be here for him. I was here to get a job and a fairly lucrative PhD. A few months of separation surely wouldn't change anything, especially to him and his overly logical mind.

Just then, a faint rumble of thunder began. Or was it more like the noise that a helicopter makes as it flies overhead? I walked to the window by the front door, wondering what on earth it was. The noise continued as I stared dumbly out at blue sky in every direction. When I looked lower, I could see that the mountain was engulfed in a puffy white cloud that was moving fast down the mountain. With a sudden horror, I realised that what I was looking at was an avalanche and there was a wall of snow heading down the slope where Q was.


	15. Chapter 15

I stared helplessly out at the wall of white that rushed down the mountain side. Was Q out there, buried beneath the waves of snow? I burst through door, into the cold. The freezing air whipped at my dressing gown but the icy tendrils couldn't touch me. I was already numb. With a sudden rush of adrenalin I ran back inside and bounded up the stairs. In a frenzy I started pulling on the thermals and rented ski suit. I wasn't exactly sure what I hoped to achieve by going out to the slopes, but I knew that I couldn't wait around in the chalet wondering whether or not he was ever going to come back. Maybe someone at the resort could tell me something, like how long a rescue attempt would take. There were bound to be others looking for friends and family. Everything seemed to be going impossibly slow. My clothes were tangled and inside out and my shaking hands refused to undo the knots in my boots. When at last I was done, I ran down the stairs two at a time. Just before I turned the corner from the hall into the living room, I heard the door open. I slammed to a halt, like I'd hit an invisible wall. A panicked thought exploded into my head. Someone had broken into the house. It was going to be one of those days where everything that could possibly go wrong, would. However, as I looked around the corner, there was Q unlacing his boots on the front step. The relief was actually painful and I put my hand over my chest to try and ease the sudden agony.

"Thank god you're alright." The words ran together into an unintelligible bundle. He looked up, surprised to see me dressed for the slopes.

"If you've changed your mind you're going to be disappointed. They have closed the slopes. Some kids broke onto the course last night and the course assistants were checking things over when there was an avalanche."

I closed the gap between us in as few steps as possible and threw my arms around his neck. His remained motionless by his side but I ignored that. "I saw the avalanche; I thought you were out there buried under a foot of snow."

"Your concern is touching," he teased.

"Shut up," I commanded, and to be sure that I was obeyed, I placed my lips over his. His face was cold against mine, but all that I cared about was that he was here, and that he was okay.

We sat side by side on the couch, boots and coats discarded on the floor. I didn't want to smother him, but at the same time I couldn't bring myself to be out of his reach. He picked up his iPad.

"I see you cracked the code," he noted.

"It's much harder to do research without a laptop." Then I added, "You look much younger than you are."

He gave a little grunt in response. "My mother assures me I'll appreciate it when I'm middle aged. However, it can be problematic in the acquisition of respect. Especially from the agents."

"Bond?"

"The worst." He glanced over and smiled. As he looked back at the screen, his face darkened. He stared, the glare reflecting in his lenses. "I've been recalled."

"I know," I admitted. "It came through when I was using it earlier. I didn't mean to look, honest." It didn't seem to faze him. Though he didn't have much of a platform to stand on when it came to observing privacy. 

"Not an ideal circumstance, but not impossible. I'll have to switch us over from radio to satellite communication. It's easier to hack but the distance makes anything else terrible quality."

A part of me wanted him to express some sort of annoyance at having to leave me, but this was Q after all. Logically we would be reunited again so why should a temporary separation concern him? He set down the tablet and announced that he was going to pack some of his things. As he disappeared I remembered that after everything, I still hadn't checked my emails. There was an update from mum. She'd gone back to work but had reduced her hours so that she now had regular visits with Michael. It's hard to tell in text form, but she sounded the happiest I had heard her in a long while. The second email was from the University inviting me to some fancy fundraiser for something called the Ben Reinhard foundation. The name was familiar, but I had no idea where from. All research students were invited, allowing for a plus one. Just then, Q entered wheeling his suitcase.

"Have you heard of the 'Ben Reinhard' foundation at all?"

He nodded, crossing to the kitchen and flicking on the kettle. "The Dean's son. He was killed in a skiing accident a few years ago. Most of the new medical research done at the Eiger is on brain injuries. Professor Reinhard set up the foundation and uses most of the money to fund the research."

"Wow."

"Why do you ask?"

"There's a formal fundraising evening for research students and members of the board." A thought crossed my mind. I asked casually, "When do you want to be back at HQ?"

"M didn't specify, but ASAP isn't something you ignore at MI6."

"The invitation has a plus one if you're interested?"

Q thought about this for a moment, wrapping his fingers around the handle of the boiled kettle. "Yes. It would be a safe assumption that there may be someone there that could have something to do with the student disappearances." The train of thought he was on appeared to have no breaks. "I could link into the CCTV camera and run face recognition against MI6's list of persons of interest. Brilliant. We'll make an operative of you yet Anna."

"I meant more like a date," I muttered under my breath. He didn't hear me and I didn't push the idea any further. 

It was strange to be back in Halls after the weekend away. I felt as though I had lived two different lives. In the kitchen Carrie was discussing her dress options for the benefit animatedly with me. Apparently having only three dresses to choose from was an imposition. I was getting Mum to post the dress that I had worn to my aunts wedding the previous summer. Even if I did have cash to burn, it saved me a hateful trip of trying on a load of dresses in a too warm fitting room. Just then Mei crashed through the kitchen door, her bag swinging wildly from her shoulder.

"I've done it!" she cried punching the air with both fists.

Through a mouthful of food Georg added, "You might want to tell us what 'it' is before we get any crazy ideas." Carrie leant over and thumped him across the back of his head.

"My cells. They worked!" I had only ever half paid attention in Biology and the several times that Mei-Lein had tried to explain her dissertation project to me I had just nodded politely. She looked at the kitchen full of blank faces and rolled her eyes. "I've been trying to get a certain type of stem cells to repair damaged brain cells," she explained, "and today they showed their first signs of actually working!"

"That's brilliant!" Carrie beamed.

"So have you, like, cured Alzheimer's or something?" Lindsay interjected, sounding genuinely impressed.

Mei gave a little nervous giggle. "No nothing like that. It's just one set of results and it's just on cultured neurones. But it's a start, and they as good as offered me a PhD position to continue the research after I finish my Undergraduate degree!"

After then had all expressed their congratulations, talk quickly resumed of dresses and hairstyles. Mei was going too, asked by one of the research students in her lab and Georg was, of course, taking Carrie. Lindsay seemed to be the only one in the flat who wouldn't be joining us. I had explained Q's presence the same way that I had to Dr Gardiner when he had gotten too curious; that he was in the country to a) see me and b) check his parents ski chalet. M had given him an extension for the benefit, but he was booked onto the first train the morning after the fundraiser.

The week dragged on with irritating slowness. I was making little to no progress with my research. It was frustrating me so much that I was questioning my entire PhD. Eventually, Friday rolled around and I left early to get myself ready in time for the benefit. As I walked into the flat, Carrie rushed past in a dressing gown, rollers in her black hair.

"Isn't it exciting?" she cooed over her shoulder, "Oh and your boyfriend is in the kitchen." She made a face that I guessed meant she approved before disappearing into Georg's room. Probably to make sure he was doing something about making himself presentable instead of killing pixel people in camouflage on his computer. 

Q sat on the sofa in the kitchen beside a plastic bag that was as long as he was. I wondered for a moment if he'd had it sent over, or carried formal wear with him as a matter of routein when he travelled. I motioned for him to follow and we went into my room. Inside, he asked to use my laptop to do some last minute preparations for the bug he was going to place on the CCTV system.

I was a little sad that after tonight I probably wasn't going to get to see him much until after I'd finished my degree at the end of the summer. If you had told me a month ago that I would miss his omnipresence, his patronising attitude and his social shortcomings, I would have laughed. No one was more surprised than I was at the gradual feelings that had crept their way in. We hadn't had long to establish our 'relationship' so I knew that if he suddenly changed his mind again that I wouldn't be heartbroken. But it was nice to feel wanted, especially when you could reciprocate.

I stepped out of the bathroom in my dress, feeling giddy with apprehension. However, I should have known better than to expect a reaction from Q, who had his head buried in the computer screen. I struck up a conversation, trying to get his attention. "So, what do I call you tonight? Q, Emmerson, or perhaps John Smith?"

Without looking up he replied, "Q. And might I add that for being so keen to know my birth name, you have seldom used it."

I gave up on waiting for him to notice me and begun the almost foreign task of applying makeup and fixing my hair. "After calling you Q for so long anything else sounds too strange. Emmerson is such a mouthful, I'd have to shorten it to Em, but then it sounds like I've given you a promotion!" I joked.

"One day," he replied with deadpan confidence.

After I'd finished wrestling with eyeliner and pinning my plain hair into something a little more interesting I took a step back. It wasn't really my style to care too much how I looked, but the person that I was looking at in the mirror could definitely be described as attractive. I could feel the confidence puffing up in my chest and I felt suddenly daring. I turned and stood across from Q.

"So, what do you think?" I teased in a girly voice as I twirled on the spot. "Pretty?" He glanced up for a moment and then returned his attention to the screen. My heart gave a dull thud of disappointment when he didn't immediately respond. "Q?" I prompted.

"I am unqualified to judge your physical appearance."

I forced out a laugh, afraid my voice would betray the defeat in me. "What do you mean?"

"I enjoy your company and your personality. For this reason I will always find you attractive, regardless of your outward appearance."

My brain shunted into gear as I processed the full weight of his words. "Okay, I know that you were being clever and complimentary in your own special way. But can you for once be a little normal and just tell me I look nice?

He gave me a cutting glance over his lenses. "After being reprimanded as such, would you believe me even if I did?"

I huffed out a sigh, annoyed that, as alway, he had a point. "No."

He shut the lid of my laptop and stood up. "Have you got a bag? He lifted out a small leather case. "I need somewhere to put this until later." I took it from him and put it into the bag I'd borrowed from Carrie along with my phone, some money, and a lip balm. He lifted his suit bag from where he'd hung it and stepped into the bathroom. About five minutes later, he reappeared and I couldn't help but smile a little. He looked very handsome, and closer to his twenty-nine years than in casual clothes. The suit was definitely his own, it was tailored perfectly for his slim frame. I couldn't help but grin like an idiot. He checked his watch and then straightened his cuffs.

"Shall we?"


	16. Chapter 16

We waited around in the hall for what seemed like an age. Lindsay, although she had nothing to do with any of the departments invited to the benefit, had come out to see us off. We had booked a nice car to take Mei, Carrie, Georg, Q and myself to the dance. Mei's date was working late and would meet us there. But Mei had yet to show. Carrie had gone down the hall to try and talk to her but hadn't gotten a response. She had assumed she was in the shower. That was over and hour ago and the car was only a few minutes away.

I knocked on the door and called out to her. There was still no answer, and there was no sound from inside the room. There was probably a perfectly innocent explanation, but all I could think of were the most horrible things that could have happened. Had she slipped and hit her head in the shower, unconscious and unreachable? Just then my phone gave three short vibrations. It was a text from Mei. She explained that she was curled up sick in bed and there was no way she was going to be able to go to the benefit. It crossed my mind that it had taken her a long time to make this reply since we'd been trying to get her attention for over an hour. But I didn't dwell too long on it.

"I just got the same message," Carrie sighed, "I hope she's okay."

There was a honk outside the building that announced the arrival of our car and there was no more time to worry about Mei.

"Feel better soon!" Carrie shouted down the hall, "We'll bring you back something nice!"

I was looking forward to the benefit. It was no prom, but there was still something exciting about getting all dressed up and going into a big ballroom full of people all looking equally glamorous. Sure, it was going to be mostly old rich people bragging about how much money they were donating to the University, but it made a change from normal. It was also probably the last proper time I was going to get to spend with Q before he went back to MI6. He'd been formally recalled. The disappearance of the students was a low priority and he had other, more important jobs to co-ordinate the technology for. Big secrets that I wasn't allowed to know about. Things that could make a difference to the world. He was so important, so smart, and I was the one he wanted. There were no words to describe exactly how that made me feel. Joy, excitement, trepidation, all rolled into one strange mix. Once he was gone, I promised myself that I would do my very best to find out more about Dr Gardiner and his disappearing chair of doom.

Q was his normal self on the journey to the hotel. Quiet and reserved. I held his hand, enjoying the feeling of his touch. He was a strange one. The filter between his brain and mouth was broken, or simply never existed. Sometimes the things he said were shocking, or rude, but other times he would say things that were so complimentary in the most surprising of ways. I knew that I couldn't expect him to just _know_ to do things. No doubt Valentines day would completely pass him by as an unnecessary commercialised holiday, and I didn't hold out much hope for birthdays or Christmas. Was he religious, or did his logical brain have no room for that which had no tangible answer? There was so much about him that I didn't know. Once this strange Switzerland adventure was over, I vowed that would change. I made myself a promise that I would get to know him much better.

The benefit was held in a 4 star hotel in Berne. We were shown into a function room dotted with white marble pillars and two sparkling chandeliers, one at either end of the room. Professor Reinhard was at the entrance, greeting everyone as they entered. I was surprised that he recognised me.

"Miss Winterman! I'm so glad you were able to make it! If it's not too much trouble I have someone very interested in your data compression research. I'll introduce you after the meal and speeches."

We took our seats and chatted amongst ourselves and the other research students that had been invited. Mei's date, Tom was a grey cloud that hung over the whole table. No doubt he thought she had faked the illness so that she didn't have to come with him. And no matter what we said, we couldn't dissuade him. He disappeared off during the meal to another table where he knew people.

As the wine was served, I was surprised that Q accepted.

"Doesn't alcohol mess with that super powered brain of yours?" I teased, taking a sip of my own.

"There are many health benefits to the occasional consumption of ethanol infused drinks," he rebutted. "You are also aware that my social skills are not quite in line with those of my peers. I find that alcohol balances the books somewhat."

"So _that's_ how you snagged Lucy." The joke was to try and settle the knowledge that he'd already slept with my best friend in my own mind as much as his.

"You best be careful then," he whispered with a smile that wasn't quite his usual smirk. It was less triumphant and more, inviting. I almost laughed out loud. Q flirting was still an odd notion, but not unwelcomed.

The meal was the same sort of thing you get at all hotel events. Some variation of soup, a main course that looks suspiciously like Christmas dinner and an assortment of small desserts of which you will only like one. Before too long, the lights had dimmed and Professor Reinhard took to the stage to give the guilt inducing speech that would tempt the wealthy to make sizeable donations.

"Ben was more than a son," he began, "he was the light of my life."

He went on to list his son's achievements, and all the potential he had. He'd only been sixteen when he'd received the ultimately fatal injury to his head. There was a respectful silence in the hall, except for the occasional sniff from the Professors table. I assumed the woman who was barely holding herself together was his wife. Reinhard went on to explain the sheer number of people every year who die from traumatic head injuries and the work that the University has been doing. He talked for a while about programming brain cells and nano-machines. Mei would have loved this bit, as it sounded a lot like what she was doing for her undergraduate project. The professor also implied that finding an effective treatment for brain injuries that would otherwise condemn someone to permanent life support might lead to the curing of mentally handicapped patients. I thought immediately of Michael back home and vowed to give Mum a call in the morning to see how things were. Lucy too.

After the Professer had stopped speaking, a jazz band began to set up on the stage and everyone began to mingle. A little crowd had formed behind the table where people wrote down their donations on cards and put them into a great glass bowl. The total would be tallied later that night so everyone could go home, puffed up with pride at how good and generous a human they had been.

I had just turned to talk to Q when a shadow loomed over us from behind and I turned to see Dr Gardiner. He was still my number one suspect despite that our relationship had graduated from outright hatred to cold neutrality. But there was still the question of motive. Yes, he had once had a chair of doom hidden in the University basement, but I had no idea what in the world he was, or had been, doing with it.

"Professor Reinhard wanted me to fetch you. I believe he already spoke to you about the gentleman who was interested in your research?"

I nodded. He leaned too far over the table for comfort. "This is a highly respected beneficiary of the University. Do your best not to screw it up. He talks a while, so you might want to finish your drink first."

He stood up again and straightened his suit. I loathed him for suggesting that I might not be competent enough not to offend someone. But the liquid courage wasn't a bad idea. I reached forward for my glass only to have Q get there first.

"I'll get us some fresh ones for when you get back," he offered, draining the last of my wine.

"You know it's polite to ask someone if they've finished first," I reprimanded mildly.

"Sorry," he replied absentmindedly as he licked his lips and stared at my glass.

I followed Dr Gardiner over to where Professor Reinhard was standing schmoozing with a small group around him.

"Ah, this is the Miss Winterman I was telling you about. Anna, allow me to introduce you to Dr Harrison. He's in charge of a global computer organisation that supplies medical institutions with computer systems and he's especially interested in your research."

Dr Harrison seemed like a perfectly normal individual. He and I chatted for a while about the problem of data storage in the Healthcare system. We discussed Kryder's law, the law referring to the cost of computer storage space. As technology advanced, the cost and physical size of hard drive space decreased. However, the sheer amount of storage space needed by Hospitals and Universities to house all their data was progressing faster than the Kryder's law, meaning that costs were increasing too fast for most government funded and even privatized hospitals couldn't afford to keep up. If my data compression ever worked, it could effectively solve a worldwide problem. But it wasn't like people hadn't tried, and weren't still trying to do exactly the same thing. The fact that no-one had managed it wasn't encouraging. As the conversation dragged on, I found that the three men, Dr Gardiner, Dr Harrison and Professor Reinhard all seemed to get a bit restless, and were watching me more and more intently. It made me feel a little uncomfortable and I was soon looking for an excuse to get back to Q.

"Well, should your research ever work, I'll be the first one to give you a call," Dr Harrison said with a laugh that sounded awfully forced. I said my goodbyes and walked back to my table. Q wasn't there and I assumed that he was either getting the drinks, or was at the toilet. The minutes edged past and I began to wonder if he'd gotten lost. I dismissed that almost immediately. He'd probably memorised the blueprints before we arrived and was busy doing something clever because he didn't know how to take a night off.

But after another five minutes I began to get worried. Carrie, Georg and some of the others were doing Tequila shots and complaining that the salt shaker was missing from our table. I checked my phone for what seemed to be the hundredth time, but there was still no message. Just as I went to put it back in the bag it beeped and I nearly dropped it in the hurry to open the message.

 _2_ _nd_ _floor, Staff bathroom end of Hall H. Now._

Quickly I excused myself and pushed through the crowd of people on the dance floor trying not to step on toes or dresses. I don't know which was worse; the worry that I felt for Q's cryptic message or the panic that I was the other side of the 'Staff Only' doors. What would I say if I ran into someone who worked here? That I'd gotten lost? That I couldn't read either the English or German signs for 'Keep Out'? Lucky for me, everyone that was working seemed to be busy with the benefit.

I pushed open the door of the bathroom with a lump in my throat, calling a soft, "Q?"

He was slumped on the floor, one hand holding onto the sink, his dress suit a mess and his glasses hanging off his face. In his other hand was, of all things, the missing salt shaker. I dropped to my knees and grabbed his shoulders.

"Q!" I shouted as loudly as I dared as I shook his shoulders. My mind immediately went to the worst place and all I could think of was, 'Please don't be dead'.

He groaned and opened one groggy eye. Thank God.

"What happened?"

"I believe…I drank something… that contained gamma-Hydroxybutyric acid," he said. The words stumbled out of his barely cooperating mouth.

"You drank what?" Even inebriated he still expected my intellect to match up to his superhuman level.

"GHB… I once heard someone… call it roofie?"

"You mean the date rape drug?" I asked, totally confused.

"It was entirely unnecessary…" he continued, still speaking like he'd run a marathon, "I would have been… consenting if only you would have asked." For a moment I thought that he was honestly accusing me. But then that little smirk appeared and I knew that a) he wasn't and b) he was going to be okay. I helped him into a more comfortable sitting position.

"I'm almost afraid to ask, but, why have you got the salt shaker from our table?"

"The body's natural reaction… to a sudden excess of sodium chloride is-"

"It makes you throw up," I finished, realising it before he could finish his laboured sentence.

"Exactly."

Even though he didn't look like he was going anywhere in a hurry, I asked him to wait there while I went in search of some sort of cup. There was an abandoned housekeeping trolley half way along the corridor and I lifted a glass from it. On my return to the bathroom I filled the glass with water and watched him devour it. I refilled and he started on the second, but took slower gulps this time. Next I handed him the after dinner mint that I'd saved from the meal. There was nothing worse than the lingering taste of vomit on your tongue. I relaxed. He was sobering before my eyes.

"How did you know that you'd been spiked?" I asked, incredulous, but thankful that I didn't have to babysit a drugged Q.

"Basic field training. It familiarises us with the taste and symptoms of the more common place narcotics. Special agents such as Bond can recognise almost any poison known to man." He paused to take a breath. "And it wasn't me they were trying to disable. It was you."

I felt my lower jaw drop.

"What?" How do you know?"

"It was in _your_ glass. I drank the last of it before you left to speak to the Dean's colleague. It was pretty concentrated, so I'm guessing it had been put in only recently."

I stared at him hard. "So someone was going to… _rape_ me?"

"I think it's unwise to jump to that assumption."

"I don't care. I want to get the _fuck_ out of here before either of us gets hurt even worse."

"The feeling is mutual."

He was better enough to walk now and we made our way back to the hall. I told Carrie that Q had food poisoning and that we were going home. Either she thought Q had got himself embarrassingly drunk, or that we were trying to escape for some alone time back at the dorm rooms. She understood though. As quick as was humanly possible, I left the ballroom, eyeballing anyone that got too close. Someone had tried to drug me tonight and I didn't trust anyone. Was this something to do with the disappearing students? Or had someone developed a sick obsession with me? I shook my head, trying to physically evacuate the thought from my head. But it was stuck, and I knew it would haunt me for quite a while.

"I'm sorry," Q mumbled as the taxi drove us back to the University. His head lolled on the back of the seat near to my shoulder. In the darkness I could see him watching me with sleepy eyes.

"It's not your fault," I insisted, "You didn't deliberately get sick."

"No, not for that. That was purely accidental. But…while I was in that bathroom, and the walls looked like they were melting, all that I could think of is how I had upset you earlier when you had asked for my opinion on how you looked. My response wasn't exactly sensitive. I meant what I said, but my phraseology could have been improved. What I should have said is that you are _always_ beautiful. And smart, and interesting, and witty."

My heart began to melt and I thought that I was going to tear up. I kissed his lips. "I know that's what you meant, even if you didn't say it. I know you're part robot," I teased, "But I don't care. Please don't think that you have to be anything else for me."

This time he leant down to me, and we kissed. We parted lips and I tasted mint. Obviously he was learning, because this time was better than any other times we had kissed. It was something to be enjoyed, _savoured_ even. We spent a long time like that, kissing. Soft pecks where we barely touched at all, then deeper lasting kisses until my lips were chapped and sore. When the car rolled to a stop it was like we were jolted from a dream. The driver cleared his throat and I opened the door like I'd been caught by a parent.

I looked back and Q gave me another sleepy smile. For a moment all I wanted to do was bundle him into my bed and run my fingers through his hair while he slept off the rest of the drugs. I didn't want anything else; at least I didn't _think_ that I did.

"Will you come with me to the train station tomorrow?" he asked, his voice a pathetic comparison to his usual tone.

The reminder that he was leaving hit me like a punch in the gut and I suddenly felt sick. Someone had tried to slip me a date-rape drug and he was leaving. I didn't really want to be in a foreign country all on my own anymore. But I was an adult. I had to suck it up.

"Sure," I said quietly. "I'll put my earpiece in before I go to bed. Let me know when you get home safe." He nodded and then closed the door.

In my room I quickly slipped out of my dress and into my pyjamas. I put in my earpiece and held the box of earrings in my hand. I stood in front of the mirror with a wipe and began to take off my makeup. I'd just started when his voice spoke into my ear.

 _"I am safely installed in my room,"_ he announced, his voice quiet and low.

"I'm glad, and I'm not," I replied, feeling a little kiss drunk. "I wish the car journey was a bit longer."

_"I would have happily asked him to drive around the country all night."_

"But the cost of the taxi fare would be extortionate," I teased.

 _"I'd pay it,"_ he replied in all seriousness.

With a bang the door to my room burst open behind me. The shock of it tore a scream from my lungs. I whirled around to see two bodies rush me. There was no time to think. The box fell from my hand and clattered onto the floor. Hands grabbed me under my arms and dragged me toward the door. I went to scream again but found a gloved hand obstructed my mouth. I tried screaming from the back of my throat but the noise was pitiful and I was sure that either no-one was awake, or they were still at the benefit.

_"Anna! What's happening? Anna!"_

My heart felt like it was trying to burst out of my chest and run for cover. The hallway was dark as I was half dragged half carried. I tried kicking my legs free, but it was like their hands were metal vices, gripping my ankles painfully. In my ear I could still hear Q.

 _"Oh God. Anna! Shit…Pick up, pick up… shit… M! Sir, I'm terribly sorry for waking you at… yes it is… Sir, we have a situation with Operation Eiger. Our undercover… yes Anna. I believe she's been kidnapped. I would like your permission to mobilise 007 to…"_ Q went silent, clearly listening to the half of the conversation that I couldn't hear. As I was taken from the building the cold bit at my skin through my thin night clothes. I was sure that the tears that were threatening in my eyes were going to freeze solid. All the outside lights were off, but I could just make out the shape of the 4x4.

_"Yes I know she's not trained… But she… yes… but shouldn't we… yes, Sir, I understand. I'm sorry for disturbing you. Good night. Shit… shit!…"_

There was a loud bang in my ear. I tried again kicking my legs again at whoever it was holding me but it was futile. What the hell was going on? What was I supposed to do? Suddenly I found myself being thrust into the backseat of the car. I tried to sit up but someone got into the back with me and forced me, face down, into the leather seats. I could hardly breathe. 

_"007. Yes I do know what bloody time it is, I apologise but just shut up and listen for a moment. Operation Eiger has been compromised. Someone's taken Anna. M has forbidden retrieval. He doesn't think it's worth the risk but I'm asking you… you'll be going against… yes… yes… she isn't carrying her microphone. There is a backup in the earpiece itself but it's very basic and the range isn't great…"_

I screamed into the leather in the hopes that he could hear my voice. That he could hear me and know that I was in trouble. That he could help in some way. It earned me a thump from the man who was leaning on me.

"Shut her up!" The voice came from the front of the car.

Q resumed the frantic one sided conversation with Bond, but it was hard to hear over the roar of the car and the back and forth between my two captors.

 _"Anna, I need you to listen closely and make another noise when I'm finished to let me know that you've heard me…"_ he began.

There some movement above me and for a terrified moment I thought that he was going to start taking my clothes off. Just then his hand went over my mouth and my face was forced down further into the seat making it even more impossible to breath. Just as I thought my lungs were going to burst into flames he pulled back on my hair. The breath I gasped in through his gloved hand tasted strangely sweet. Then, my eyelids felt suddenly and overwhelmingly heavy and I slipped quickly into darkness.


	17. Chapter 17

I woke to darkness. Even though my eyes were open I could see nothing. Neither could I remember anything. Panic took hold of my throat and of my stomach. As snippets of memory returned in rapid succession, the panic turned to dread. The scenes of what had happened before I'd blacked out flashed through my mind randomly.

Q slumped against the sink.  
Myself in the mirror.  
The benefit.  
The corridor of the residential halls as I was dragged through them.

I sat straight up in what I could only assume is a bed. Reaching out into the black with my hands I searched for a wall. Behind my head I found one and used it to guide me around the nothingness. There had to be a light switch somewhere. The floor beneath my feet was tiled and pricked my feet with cold as I ran my hands along the rough brick just below head height. The flashes of memory came less often. With an excited jolt I touched my ear hoping that Q's earpiece would still be there. It wasn't, but perhaps it had fallen onto the floor or gotten tangled into the sheets on the bed. I continued my search for the light. Across two walls I navigated, bumping my feet and shins against objects in the unfamiliar room. Finally my fingers brushed a boarder and then the plastic nub of a switch and the room was flooded with white. The shock of it burned my eyes and I stood there blinking for several moments as they adjusted. Gradually the room came into focus. A small single bed sat against one wall, made from a metal frame that could only be described as regimental. There was a cupboard at the foot of the bed, and I could see that what I had bumped into was a small metal toilet with a sink next to it. To the other side of me I saw the door. Instinctively I tried the handle, but it didn't shock me to find that it was locked. I took a step back and looked down, realising for the first time that my nightclothes had been exchanged for a thin hospital gown. The fact that I was still wearing my underwear didn't detract from the wave of revulsion that washed over me. Someone had undressed me. My skin erupted into goose bumps and I had the feeling that not even an hour scrubbing my skin under scalding water would ever make me feel clean again. To distract myself I began a desperate search for the earpiece. I shook the rough blanket out, listening for the thud against the tiles, but there was nothing. I searched the floor for what felt like forever, but all I found was dust. I cleaned my hands on the gown and sat on the edge of the bed.

Someone had taken the earpiece from me. When? If they threw it out the window of the car then I was lost. If Q tracked it, he would be led to the middle of nowhere while I was stuck here in, wherever _here_ was, without a hope of being found. But if the earpiece was in the building, there was hope. To that hope, I clung desperately.

There were no windows in the room, so I couldn't tell if it was night or day. I didn't even know how long I had been here. Hours? Days? Could I have been drugged and here for weeks? I checked the skin of my arms for any needle marks or sensitive skin but was unmarked. With each passing second the fear settled on me heavier, until I felt like the weight on my shoulders was going to crush my body into the ground. Just then, I heard footsteps. I sprang to my feet. At first I was excited, but then the dread set in again. What if the someone whose steps were growing ever louder was worse than just being in a strange room all by myself?

At the other side of the door the footsteps came to a stop and a bolt was drawn across. The door opened and I was looking into the face of the University Dean.

Professor Reinhard's face contorted with confusion. "Anna? What on earth are you doing in here?"

My body almost collapsed with relief. "Professor, you've no idea how glad I am to see you."

"What are you doing here?" he repeated.

"After the benefit, I was abducted! I've just woken up, I don't even know where here is!"

He shook his head in disbelief. "This won't do at all. I told them that you were to be brought to the guest rooms and that you were to be brought around gradually under my supervision. Not left here in the dark by yourself."

The whole room seemed to shift violently under my feet and I grasped onto the bed frame to steady myself from the effect of his words. _He knew_. If the University Dean knew then he was most likely in charge. The sudden loss of relief and hope from my body left me feeling a little punch drunk. We stared at each other for a few beats.

"Is the whole University a front then?" I asked eventually.

He shook his head. "Not all, but a significant portion. I'm so sorry Anna, this is not how I envisaged this happening. However, the net was drawing too close around us. Your little agent friend was getting too close for comfort."

He knew about Q too. How long had he known? "What do you want with me?" I asked.

"There'll be time for all that later. First, let me get you somewhere more comfortable." He gestured for me to follow but I held my ground.

"No. Tell me now. I'm not going anywhere without knowing what the hell is going on." The words that came from my mouth were filled with a confidence that I was not sure I could back up with action. He paused and sighed.

"Very well, please sit." I sat back down and Reinhard put his back against the door frame, gazing into the middle distance. "You recall my speech at the benefit, about my son, Ben?"

"Yes, he…" I found myself reluctant to say the word dead. Despite kidnapping me, there was a strange part of me that didn't want to cause him undue pain. "He passed away after a skiing accident."

"I set up the foundation to do research into brain injuries so that no-one else would have to go through what my wife and I have."

Everything that he had said so far, though it was not much, seemed perfectly reasonable. But there was clearly more to this, as abduction was not a card played by a reasonable individual. Reinhard looked away from the wall and smiled at me.

"I'm afraid I told a few white lies. For a start, Ben is not dead."

"So you faked your son's death to raise funds for medical research?" My question was hesitant. My brain had divulged into several different theories, each more ridiculous than the last.

"He's alive, but not corporeal. He's been on a ventilator for twelve years. We've been conducting research to fix his brain injury. The wires of his mind have disconnected and we're trying to reconnect them. But research is slow when you follow the rules. If we had done this through proper channels, we wouldn't even me testing on mice models at this stage. So I took matters into my own hands. Your doctorate project is the final piece of our puzzle. With your help we might finally have our cure."

"But I work on data storage and compression. How on earth could I help you with brain research?" I protested.

"Anna. It's brilliant, you have to see the whole thing to understand. You must be starving. I'll move you somewhere more comfortable so that you can shower, change out of that ridiculous hospital gown and get some food."

Despite my better judgement, I followed him. So he was bypassing some red tape for the sake of his son. Most medical breakthroughs of the 20th century were done on questionable ethics. Granted, keeping his son on a machine for nearly half of his life was creepy, but I wasn't a parent. I couldn't begin to understand what that felt like.

He took me to another part of the building. Outside the windows I could see daylight, but it was just snow and rocks. The second room was much nicer, like that of a guest house. There are no locks on the door, except for the en-suite. For a moment I consider climbing out the window and making a run for it, but there was nothing in all directions except a white blanket. I would freeze to death before I got to civilization. We must be up one of the mountains. I took a long shower and changed into some of the clean clothes that were left for me. When I got out there was a sandwich and carton of orange juice for me.

Just as I finished up my meal, Professor Reinhard appeared again.

"I have everything set up if you'd like to see the project so far."

My curiosity had been piqued. I'd had almost an hour to think everything over and I had decided to hear him out. Not that I was convinced I had much choice otherwise.

He led me through two sets of double doors that were both passcoded and guarded. Before we go further he asked me to put on safety glasses and a white lab coat. I obliged and he led me into the lab. To say it was impressive would be like comparing the Niagara Falls to a trickle of water. The stainless steel gleamed and every wall was lined with sophisticated computers and biomedical arrays. We passed other scientists and I caught sight of Dr Gardiner hunched over a computer. I feel a slight thrill of triumph. At least our suspicions about him weren't wrong.

Reinhard led me to his desk which is backed by a wall of screens, much like Q's desk in the underground headquarters of MI5.

"Are you familiar with the basic structure of a nerve cell?" he asked, bringing up a diagram that I remembered from Miss Bletchley's Biology class. He gave me a brief recap and I felt a little proud that the words feel familiar. Axon, dendrites, myelin sheath.

"For a long time it was thought that we were born with all the nerve cells that we would ever have. However, that's been disproved since the 80s. However, we know more about the surface of Mars than our own brains." He chuckled nonchalantly, "It took us several years to work out what parts of the nerve cells, or neurones, were being damaged. We tried drug development then but nothing worked as we hoped. Nerve cells seem very happy to give themselves up for destruction by the immune system, but strongly resistant to repair. Even if we pump the body full of the chemicals that are present when your body is making nerves during embryonic development, they are determined to remain damaged. Strange, isn't it?"

He continued, "We looked into nanotechnology then. If we couldn't convince the body's cells to repair themselves, then we would have to do it for them. The nano-bots are designed to recognise and repair damages to nerve cells. I believe you lived in the same dorm as Mei-Lein. She's done some work on the project too. However, we could get the nanomachines into the brain, but the coding we had given it was too much to handle. As you understand we're working with nanometre sized computer chips and it has proved impossible to get all the instructions for successful neurone repair onto those chips."

As he spoke, diagrams, animations and what looked like microscope footage of the tiny robots flashed up on screen. It was fascinating, though trying to keep up with everything was beginning to make my brain ache.

"So it's a data storage problem. You've got too much information to place onto the computer that powers the nanobots. You want my help to compress the coding so that you can fit full operational instructions into the bots?"

"Precisely," Reinhard beamed, obviously pleased that I was keeping up.

"You could have just asked," I griped, giving him something of a disapproving glare. "Kidnapping me was somewhat of an overreaction."

"We couldn't risk you saying no."

I glanced at the schematics on the screen, then down at the print out of the code for the nanobot.

"I could have a prototype ready in a few days if I have someone who knows about the nanotech to help me?"

"Anything you need, it's yours. Just ask."

I nodded. "Then mice models. We'll need them for the prototype. Have you got some on hand or do you need to order them in?"

"We don't use mice models." He says, matter of fact.

"Rats? Dogs or chimps?" I was loathed to use the latter two. Mice and rats I could sacrifice for the greater good. Anything else left me very uncomfortable.

"We're running out of time. We skip animal models." He turns to me suddenly and fixes me with a serious look. "Are you confident that you can do this?"

"Fairly," I replied warily.

"Once you're finished we'll begin human trials."

My eyes grow wide. "Are you sure that's wise? Have you got volunteers who are willing to undergo something _this_ experimental?"

"Oh yes." He smiled at me. "We've got you."


	18. Chapter 18

My heart shunted to a halt. I asked Professor Reinhard to repeat himself, hoping that I'd heard wrong. I hadn't.

"I have to make sure that everyone on this project is giving their all. There is nothing quite like the incentive of your own life. I'm sure you understand. I run a delicate operation and I must have some form of insurance."

Of course I understood. I understood his reasoning behind the secrecy. He was conducting illegal and non-consensual human experimentation.

"What if I refuse?"

Reinhard's smile faded. "I appreciate that it is your choice Miss Winterman. I cannot force you to sit at a computer and play your part. Be advised, however, that I won't take kindly to a refusal. With being so close to a cure I'm afraid my patience could wear thin quickly. I am not going to resort to threats though. There are so many benefits to this cure being developed that I should think your decision would be easy! The system we're developing could be used in so many different ways. We could help suffers of Multiple sclerosis, of Dementia, Parkinson's disease, Alzheimer's. The possibilities are endless."

Though he had a point, I set my face in a hard line. I hoped that I looked somewhat defiant. Reinhard sighed.

"Come with me Anna."

I followed him without protest. He led me out of the lab and into another wing of the building. There was a temptation to ask about the earpiece but I didn't want to raise suspicion. Was Q in the middle of arranging some rescue mission right at this moment, or was he being an obedient little Quartermaster and listening to his superiors? They _had_ warned me that I would be a ghost. I wasn't on their books, I wasn't an employee, I wasn't an agent. An 'extended period of interview' he had told me. I'm not sure but I guessed being captured might put my place on their shortlist in jeopardy.

As we walked, a nurse with clipboard in hand passed, giving Reinhard a cursory nod. We passed through two double doors in quick succession into what must have been a hospital wing. Crossing the room to a cordoned area, I knew instinctively what we were going to find when the curtain was drawn back.

He lay on the bed, looking like he was simply asleep. Machines crowded the bed space like vigilant visitors. There were more tubes than I could count inhabiting his body. I watched as his chest rose and fell in time with the noise of the ventilator which filled and emptied his lungs in a regular rhythm. In the quiet the ceaseless whirring and beeping made it sound like we were in the heart of a factory instead of a hospital.

"He's in there," the Professor says. His voice was soft, yet I could hear him perfectly. "I know he is. Can you imagine it? Being trapped inside a body that won't obey you? He can probably hear me right now but there's no way for him to let us know. It would be enough to drive anyone crazy. But Ben's strong. A bit of counselling when he wakes up should be enough to set him back on the right track. "

Despite the Professor's confidence, I knew that there was every possibility that his son had been gone from that body for a very long time.

"But you've had experience of this all before haven't you?"

In an instant I know exactly why Reinhard had brought me there.

"If not for Ben, do it for Michael."

"Don't," I breathed as my brother's name ripped a hole in my chest. I realised too late it was a mistake to say anything at all. He knew he had struck a nerve and now had the hammer poised to hit it as many times as was necessary.

"When was the last time Michael said your name Anna? Do you think he _enjoys_ being abandoned in the care home with a bunch of senile pensioners?"

Anger. Disgust. Guilt. Each word struck something new and uglier inside of me.

"How old is Michael again? Not even 30 if I remember correctly. Think of everything he's missing out on. Adventure, friends, falling in love, maybe even children. You've got the chance to change all that. Erase the past and heal him. Are you seriously considering turning your back on that? You'd leave him trapped in the prison of his broken mind?"

"And what if it doesn't work?" I snapped back. A frustrated tear escaped my left eye. I rubbed it away before he could see it.

"It will. And if by some misfortune it doesn't we won't just leave you. Everyone that's volunteered so far is still alive, just like Ben. Your sacrifice, if it comes to that, will only be temporary. We'll keeping working until we've cracked it. Think how amazing that day will be when we treat everyone, when we mend all their little broken circuits. You could be the one to do it Anna!"

"But… what you're doing is _wrong_."

"In whose eyes Miss Winterman? Edward Jenner infected an 8 year old boy with deadly small pox on a hunch that led to the formation of modern vaccinations that have saved _millions_ of lives. What if he hadn't because someone had told him it was _wrong_?"

I looked back down at the bed. But I didn't see Ben there, I saw Michael. Was there really a possibility of getting my big brother back? The real one and not the stranger in the care home who merely wore his face. The one who called me Anna Banana, kicked my ass at video games and didn't have to be fed with a spoon.

"Okay," I said eventually. "I'll start tomorrow. Can I just, have the rest of today to wrap my head around this all? It hurts too much to start staring at a screen for hours."

"I understand. I'll take you to your room and make arrangements for you to have your own station in the lab."

We left the hospital wing and went back to the residential part of the building.

"Where are we exactly?" I asked eventually as we pass a bank of windows at the end of one of the many corridors.

"Anna," he laughed, "I can tell you _what_ we are. This is an abandoned military training barracks. But it would be foolish of me to tell you where, considering your special connections."

"Worth a shot," I admitted. "Aren't you worried that they're going to come after me? They're pretty pissed that you keep stealing their scientists."

"We've been successfully avoiding them now for over a decade. Operations here are very thorough. We check and remove every device that is capable of sending a signal. Your earpiece for example. It was destroyed before you'd even left University property. Our computers are all on an internal server and phone communication is untraceable. Even if you did manage to contact MI6, you'd have no way of telling them where to start looking."

"They could start looking at abandoned military bases?"

He chuckled. "Yes, they could. But it's been three days, so you might have a problem being certain what country to get them to start looking. Just let me know when you'd like to make the phone call and I'll provide you with one."

His biting sarcasm cut through my hope. The possibility of a dramatic rescue became ever more unlikely. Three days of nothing.

"Rest well Miss Winterman." Reinhard left me at my door, "Tomorrow the hard work will begin."

I was tired enough to sleep yet my mind would not release me. As I lay in the bed I thought about everything. Michael, Mum, Lucy. When was the last time I called any of them? Would my friends in the dorms notice my absence? Reinhard had probably already spun them a plausible story. Lastly, I thought of Q. My abduction seemed like a hazy dream that I actually struggled to remember the details of. However, I could still hear his voice in my head calling for help, trying to get my rescue authorized. Was there more? The rest disappeared into the drugged blackness.

Was he out there now, trying to help me, sanctioned or not? Despite our months of working together and our limited romantic exchanges I could tell that I didn't really know him. His real name, Emmerson Holmes, his birthday, and his tendency to suffer from anxiety. The things I knew about him could be counted out on two hands. But I was sure of this. Q was logical, to a fault. If the benefits of getting me back didn't outweigh the dangers that it might bring to an agent, he simply wouldn't. After the initial shock of my kidnap mid-conversation had worn off and he had a clear head, would I still be worth the risk? I doubted whether romance featured high on his list of priorities to get me more than a few extra points of importance. No, I would rescue myself. And I would do it by working on Reinhard's cure.

I slipped into sleep and awoke with the sun the next morning. After a long shower I got back into my clothes and started wandering the hallways. Given our extreme location, I guessed that most of the staff lived on site. There would have to be some sort of canteen. After about 10 minutes of wandering the deserted hallways I found my way into a room with chairs and tables laid out. The kitchen was deserted, but there were a selection of cereals, fruit and yoghurt left for self-service. At the far end of the room, a clock on the wall informed me that it was almost 7.30am and I felt relieved at finally knowing the hour. I didn't realise the room wasn't empty until I looked up after having retrieved a bowl of corn flakes and an apple.

In the corner, watching me with his spoon halfway to his mouth was Dr Gardiner. With nothing else to lose, I walked over, keeping eye contact and sat down opposite.

"So did he emotionally blackmail you too, or did you volunteer for this insanity?"

"Anna…" he sighed, finally setting down his spoon, "for what it's worth, I'm sorry."

I shrugged, letting him know that his apology means nothing at all. "You knew my PhD project inside out. You had to be the one to tell Reinhard that I would be the one who could help him with his 'cure'."

Gardiner shook his head. "I didn't volunteer you. Ernest… erm, Professor Reinhard, he keeps watch over all research projects. It was either you of Georg. Reinhard seemed to think your personal connection to the cure might make you more…"

"Susceptible to blackmail?" I finished coldly.

"In a word; yes. If it's any consolation, I'm not here for my own personal enjoyment. I…" he looks down at the bowl of mush in front of him and takes his glasses off. "I had an affair with a student a number of years ago. Perfectly consensual on both parties. But the Dean discovered it and threatened to expose me to my wife and throw me from the University. I reckon I would have recovered if it hadn't been for my contract of employment. Always read the fine print, Anna. Turns out my research belongs not to me, but the University. If I was expelled, I would lose everything. My life's work. 30 years, gone in an instant. It almost made his offer of working on the cure look appealing. I distribute my time between here and the University. A few months there, a few months here."

"But they test on students. Take away the ventilators and life support machines and they're effectively _killing_ students. How are you okay with that?" I demand, my breakfast going ignored.

"Children see the world in black and white. Good and bad. The older we get the more shades of grey we see. By the time you get to my age Anna, everything's grey. And I don't mean my hair. I'm not proud of my choices. But I've made them, and I'm dealing with them. What about you?"

I did a double take. "What do you mean?"

"You're still here, you're still alive, which means that you've agreed to stay. What have you constructed your pedestal out of that puts you on some different moral high ground than me?"

I opened my mouth to shoot back some snappy retort but I had nothing.

"Sorry, that was rude," he said. He picked up his bowl and spoon and left the table. He turned, then sat down again. He leaned close and whispered under his breath. "Listen. I'm done. I've watched too many students sit in that operating chair, their eyes full of the false promises they've made themselves, convinced that they've solved the problem only for the screen that monitors brain activity to flat line. If you have any doubt about whether or not your programming of the bots has worked, tell me and I'll go first. I'll see you in the lab."

In the wake of his bombshell, he left and the room was empty. I picked at my soggy flakes, but my stomach was too churned to manage much. Slowly, the canteen began to fill up with staff. There were too many unfamiliar faces in here and I got up to leave. A sudden pain exploded through my right forearm and I gave a yelp. The bowl and spoon clattered nosily to the floor. The bowl was plastic based so the damage consisted of just spilt milk and unfinished cereal. As the room watched me I mopped it up with some napkins and left as quickly as I could. Out in the less crowded hall, I ran my hand over my arm where the stabbing sensation had occurred but there was nothing there to explain it. I shrugged it off as a 'growing pain' even though I've been the same height for five years and made my way to the lab.


	19. Chapter 19

I felt as though my eyes were going to fall out of my face. I'd been staring at the same page of algorithms for the last two hours, making subtle changes and running simulations on my code. It was all a useless facade which ended in the same five letter word.

**Error.**

I tried to keep myself calm. I told myself over and over that I'd gotten this far and that it was physically impossible for me to give up. I scratched absently at my arm as I thought. A couple of desks over some of the other researchers were chatting quietly over the hammering of multiple sets of fingers on keyboards. No-one had introduced themselves to me in the two days that I'd been here, and aside from a few short and sharp conversations with Dr Gardiner I'd spoken to nobody. It only took me a few hours to realise what was making my isolation so uncomfortable. It was Q, or rather the lack of him. It wasn't that we'd talked a lot through the earpiece. But he would keep the connection open and talk to himself sometimes as he worked. His constant presence was somewhat comforting. Now his absence was overwhelming.

At 6 I shut down my computer and grabbed a plate of pasta salad from the chiller in the canteen. I carried it into the recreation room where some of the other researchers were lounging in small groups around the room. On the TV there was a show about wildlife that everyone was ignoring. I hid myself in a corner and peeled the plastic wrap from the plate. For a while I just people watched as I picked at the food I wasn't that interested in. It occurred to me that I was in one of the strangest prisons in existence. "Hey, you can't leave until you cure my brain dead son having first tested the treatment on yourself but at least we've provided you with monotonous daytime TV and semi-edible cafeteria food."

I scratched my forearm absently. Another 5 or 10 minutes and I left, still being ignored by everyone else, and returned to my room. It was still well before a sensible bed time so I decided to take a shower. As I peeled off my t-shirt the sight that greeted me stopped me dead, still tangled in fabric. The arm that I had been scratching all day was a patchwork of deep red blotches and white lumps. My mind jumped to an allergic reaction. Perhaps that was the cause for the sharp stabbing sensation that caused me to drop my plate a couple of mornings ago. Not that it made any sense, but my understanding of the body was limited to middling school biology. Despite the horrific state of my skin, I wasn't immediatly concerned. It meant that there was now a chance I could leave this place to get some form of treatment. But the hope in me was snuffed out almost as quickly as it had ignited. I was deluding myself if I thought that they would let me leave to get my arm seen to. They'd probably use something experimental and completely unsafe of their own dubious design. I pulled the t-shirt back on quickly and climbed into bed, abandoning thoughts of my shower. I pulled the sheets around me, feeling more lonely and scared than I had been. Which would be worse, slowly losing limbs to the mystery illness spreading up my arm, or being treated by Professor Reinhards debatable medical team.

Sleep came quick but didn't last long. I woke suddenly, heart pounding as an alarm screamed and a red light pulsed above my door.

"For your safety, please remain in your dormitories," the male voice commanded over a tannoy in a voice that is mechanically calm. I flicked on the bedside lamp and walk over to the door. Ignoring the speaker as it repeated the same instruction over and over, I opened the door and peered into the hallway. The same red light bathed everything in what looks eerily like a uniform covering of fresh blood.

"Miss," shouted a voice from the bottom of the hallway. A bright white light shines in my face and I was momentarily blinded. "Please return to your room." He closed the gap between us in a few strides and put a hand on my door. "For your own safety, I must insist you remain in your room." With a shove he pushed the door closed. Just before it does I caught a glimpse of a gun slung over his shoulder. What on earth was going on?

Then it hit me. It's my rescue! Someone at MI6 has been sent to extract me and take me home. I knew Q wouldn't let me down.

I wait, impatiently, pacing the room. How long would it take? Would it be Bond, or an agent I haven't met yet? Every minute feels impossibly long as the blaring siren and the repeating order start to turn my brain into mush.

The door burst open and I jumped in surprise. But the biggest shock is in the person who now stands before me; Dr Gardiner.

"How did you do it?" he demanded as he grabbed my shoulders, shaking me. His eyes blazed with panic. "Tell me how you did it and I'll try to cover for you. I just need to know how."

"Do what?" I gasped, breathless from the speed at which my brain was going to try to keep up. "What's going on? Has there been a break in?"

He squinted at me, narrowing his eyes until they're almost nothing under his unkempt eyebrows. "You didn't do it," he said. I could feel the disappointment in his voice.

"Do what?" I demanded, yelling over the siren.

"Someone activated a tracking signal, just for a second. Naturally I assumed it was you and that you'd found some way to contact your friends at MI6 back in Britain."

The floor felt as though it was sagging under the weight of my disappointment. It took a moment for me to realise that it was my legs threatening to give way under me. All the adrenalin and hope had fled my body in an instant leaving me completely drained.

"No," I replied quietly, "That wasn't me."

"Reinhard will blame you regardless. There's never been a breach of his signal jamming before. You're the most recent variable to have changed so, logically…" he trailed off and gave an apathetic shrug. With that, he disappeared back out into the corridor.

It took me a while to adjust to everything that had happened. But after the dust of my changing emotions has settled, I was not as disappointed as I first expected. Maybe it was an alarmingly early onset of Stockholm syndrome, but part of me still wants to make this work. For Michael, for Reinhards son, for anyone else that has a broken brain.

The alarm shut off and the lighting returned to normal. I crawled back into bed and slept. It was after lunch the next day before Dr Gardiner's prediction comes true and Professor Reinhard entered the lab, heading straight for me. He spread his hands on the table in front of me and lowers his face to mine.

"Do you have a moment Anna?"

Despite the appearance, it was not a request, but an order. I made sure to save the section of coding that I'd been tweaking and closed down the computed. I followed him out into the deserted hallway.

"I'm sure you're wondering what all that unnecessary fuss was over last night. I'm sorry if it disturbed you."

"It's okay," I said, unable to think of anything more appropriate.

"You're probably unaware of the fact that the alarm is set off when someone releases a signal of any kind. Confidentiality of our little operation here is the most important thing to us, so naturally we try to make it as secure as possible. I was just wondering, Anna, if you had anything to do with the signal that was sent off last night."

I shook my head. "Nothing."

Professor Reinhard smiled. "Forgive me, I don't mean to doubt you but, as a scientist, I have to look at all the variables in this situation and I'm afraid that you do stand out as a new and untested factor. You've also the unfortunate added aspect of being here against your will. I'll ask again, did you send out a tracking signal?"

I tried not to scratch my arm as I thought of how to answer. I had nothing to do with it, but he clearly didn't believe me.

"You had me checked for tracking devices when you came in here, correct?" I could feel the anger creeping into my voice but could do nothing to stop myself. "Well, if you trust them to have done their job properly then how could I possibly have gotten a hold of anything capable of transmitting to the outside world?"

"Anna, I'm crediting you with the intelligence to find a way around my safeguards. There is no reason to take my accusation personally," Reinhard said, his voice less restrained than before. "Nevertheless, I shall be keeping a closer eye on you for the next while, just for my own peace of mind. You have a relative amount of freedom here Miss Winterman. Don't make me regret it."

His lips were pursed in anger as he turned and walked away down the corridor, the tails of his white lab coat snapping behind him. I returned to the lab and set about tweaking my coding again. The signal plagued my mind for a while as I thought of any possible explanations. What if Q had planted some sort of tracker in me? Surely that was impossible though, as anything with tracking capabilities would have been flagged up in the search. Maybe it was guilt from Reinhards clipped words earlier that had me thinking that I was somehow responsible for setting off the alarm. The most likely explanation was a malfunction of some kind. Besides, if by some miracle Q _had_ put a tracker on me that didn't show up in scans, why would he have waited nearly a week before activating it? Nothing added up, so I decided to put it out of my mind.

But that wasn't my only problem. I had been checking the reaction on my arm at intervals boarding on the obsessive, and although it didn't seem to be getting any worse, neither had it improved any. Just one more problem on an ever increasing list.

I showered that night, having put it off earlier for the sake of my strange diseased limb. There was no pain at all, which is a pleasant surprise. The heat from the shower exhausted me and the temptation to fall asleep with wet hair was too great and I more or less fell into bed.

For the second night in a row, I awoke with a start. My door was open and there was pressure over my face. Instinctively I screamed, though most of the sound is lost behind the hand that was clamped over my mouth. Then, through the safety lighting filtering in through the door I caught sight of a pair of glasses reflected in the light. Glasses that I've seen before. My heart began to thud erratically and I thought that I was about to burst with joy and relief. The hand moved gently away.

"How?" I managed to say as my eyes gradually adjust enough to see Q's features. I sat up quickly.

"Their security system is fairly antiquated," he began in a whisper, "and I imagine that their remote location gives them a false sense of assurance as the number of physical guards is minimal."

I had an overwhelming desire to touch him, to throw my arms around him and to kiss him. But the urge to get the hell out of this place was greater and I resisted. I settled for grabbing his hand and felt instantly safe for the first time in nearly a week.

"Let's go," I hissed urgently. But as I rode the wave of euphoria, a sudden pang of guilt began to crush my insides. Michael. What if I was about to walk away from the chance to give him his life back. To make him and countless others better again. The chance was slim, but it was still there. Q took a step toward the door but my feet were firmly planted to the floor. I was just about to explain my dilemma when room is bathed in red and the siren screamed once more.

"That's not right," Q said immediately, looking up at the warning light with a curiously vacant look in his eyes. "It's impossible. I calculated numerous scenarios…all the probabilities of failure...I..." he stopped to catch his breath like he'd been running. His eyes were wide and the hand that was in mine began to tremble. He squeezed his eyes closed and began to count. He was having a panic attack. I grasped his hand tight, and counted with him. I was so engrossed in this that I didn't hear the running feet until they were right outside my door.

"On the ground!" a voice yelled as a flashlight burned my eyes. "On the ground now!"

I whirled to Q, who was still counting out loud, apparently oblivious to the chaos. "This is your final warning, get on the ground!"

"He can't," I screamed, into the light.

"I won't ask again, on the ground both of you!" There were more flashlights now and I could see nothing but white.

"Please, just listen!" I begged, straining to be heard over the siren, waving my hands in front of me to show that I wasn't armed. The next sound I heard was a gunshot.


	20. Chapter 20

In a startling turn of events, it turned out that being shot hurt. A lot. Not that I could really complain, and to say that I'd been 'shot' is really an exaggeration. The bullet chewed off a bit of skin at my shoulder. It was nothing more than a bit of a nasty flesh wound. It could have been much worse. I was standing in front of Q, waving my arms about, trying to catch their attention when it happened. It was more of a warning shot that had managed to bite into my flailing arms as I moved. The pain was raw, like the worst burn that I could imagine, several times over.

Seconds later, Professor Reinhard had burst through the door and punched the guard in a surprising display of rage.

"I said they weren't to be harmed!" he spat, fury radiating on his face in the red glow of the security lights.

Both Q and I were taken to the medical wing to get patched up. Professor Reinhard came with us. The guard who had shot me had mysteriously vanished from the company of those there to watch over us. I didn't want to think too long on the possible consequences for him.

"Once again," Reinhard said, passing me a paper cup of tea, "Our sincerest of apologies."

Q had recovered somewhat from his panic attack and was sat in an armchair beside my bed, a blanked wrapped over his shoulders. He was staring into his cup, not registering that the steam was beginning to fog up his glasses.

"But, I would be lying if I said that I wasn't excited to have both of you here for this. Especially the Quartermaster of MI6 no less." He looked at Q who glanced up, his face unreadable. "Two heads are indeed always better than one. I'll leave you to rest and in the morning, you'll resume your work."

He walked out of the room and as the door shut behind him, there was the unmistakable click of a lock. Silence descended for a while. At last, Q sighed and set his cup down on the bedside locker. His hand found my right. My left hand was cold, numb, from the local anaesthetic given before they had stitched up my shoulder.

"Are you alright?" he asked softly.

"Yes."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be." I should have felt terrified. Hopeless. But I didn't. Surely this was a sign, a sign that we were both meant to be here? That we could, despite the loss of our freedom, our control on the situation, help Professor Reinhard's son after all. And Michael. And anyone else with a life altering brain condition. But there was something more forward in my mind. A burning realisation that I almost didn't want confirmed.

"You found me. You had me tracked." They weren't questions. I knew it to be true. Q sighed irritably.

"Yes."

"You put something inside me. Without my permission."

"Yes."

I took my hand back. A very concrete way of telling him that he had done something wrong without having to say anything to him. I turned my face to the wall. I was so angry at him. I wasn't his personal lab rat. We'd been through this before. He _couldn't_ just do whatever he felt like in the name of science. But my curiosity was stronger. "How does it work?"

"They're nano-particles, injected into subdermal tissue. Undetectable until a remote signal activates them and they form up into a small signal generator. You may have experienced slight discomfort when they were assembling."

"That's… brilliant," I admitted with reluctance. But he still wasn't forgiven for using me as his own personal guinea pig.

He was silent for a long time then, the only noise in the room was the hum of the fluorescent lights on the ceiling. "I'm not sorry," he said eventually. "I know how you feel, and I know that objectively speaking it's immoral of me but… I'm here now and even if the rescue was fallible, I vastly prefer to know that you are alive than not to know at all."

I didn't reply. After some time I must have closed my eyes because I drifted off into a fitful sleep.

By the time morning came, I still had not forgiven him. After a small breakfast in the medical room, we were escorted into the computer suite. This time, there was no-one else there.

"We have to make this work," I breathed setting my hands over the keyboard, speaking to him for the first time. "If we don't, they'll kill us."

Q put his hand on top of mine and I snatched it back, still angry. I regreted the decision immediately. The sudden movement stung my still raw shoulder. Q flinched with me, like I had struck him. He took a moment, then spoke low, so we couldn't be overheard. "It can't be done."

I snapped my head around and glared. "What?"

"I've tried. I've been trying to see if your research on software compression would work since we sent you to the Eiger Institute to finish your PhD. It's not going to work."

My heart felt as though it had turned to lead and was sinking down through my chest, dragging every part of my body with it. Everything I had been doing, not just for the last few weeks but for the last year, was useless?

"I don't understand."

"What you're trying to do is just not possible. The programme the nano-bots would use to repair the neural tissue is too complex and the nano-bot storage capacity too small. It will not work." The last words were punctuated. An emphasis. It was not possible. I remained quiet for what felt like a very long time. I processed the information very slowly. The whirring of the fans from the room full of computers sounded like how I imagined the firing synapses in my brain did. Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes. What about Michael? The only reason that I had agreed enough to get me this far was the possibility of helping him. My sweet brother. Was there really no chance of getting the Mike that I knew back? I pushed my tongue hard against the roof of my mouth. I didn't want to anyone, not even Q, to see me cry. Partly it was a pride thing, but I also didn't want to raise suspicions.

"Then what do we do?"

"I don't know."

We spent the rest of the day 'working' on the programme. The atmosphere was suffocating. We were guarded the whole time. Q made sketch notes on some paper. To an outsider it looked like he was working on computer code. I knew different. He was working on an escape. His writing was small, cramped and sharp. Unconnected words and symbols dotted the page, appearing like gibberish.

Finally, it came to me.

"So, we can't programme them to repair damaged tissue. That's why all the testing so far has failed. The nano-bots have wreaked havoc inside the brain because the coding has overwhelmed it. What if we can strip back the coding, make it very basic? Make it harmless, but useless. Remember, he wants me to test it."

Q pushed his glasses back up his nose and stared at me. His mouth opened, as if he wanted to protest, but closed again quickly. "That may be a suitable solution."

We worked tirelessly for the remainder of the day, heads bent close over the keyboards, anger forgot as we tried to work through our new plan. The room had no windows so all that we had to tell the time was the clock on the screen in the bottom right hand corner. It was nearly midnight before we finished. They brought us food at intervals but otherwise left us alone.

Finally, I lifted my hands off the keyboard and stretched out my tired and cramping fingers. I looked over at him, and smiled. We had finished.

"What now?"

"We tell them, I suppose," he suggested with a shrug.

Professor Reinhard arrived a few minutes after we informed a guard. With him, to my horror, was Dr Gardiner. My heart leapt into my throat. Professor Reinhard may not have had the wherewithal to understand what we had done to the code, but Dr Gardiner certainly did. What should we do? I tugged at Q's sleeve very gently under the table. He gave an imperceptible shake of his head - Do nothing.

Tension filled the room again. It was as humid as a sauna and I tried to mask how difficult I was finding breathing. There were only two ways this was going to end. Either we would have to tell them that we couldn't actually fix the coding, and die because we were of no further use to them. Or, Dr Gardiner would declare that the code wouldn't work and we would be killed for trying to deceive them. Either way, we were dead. I looked around the desk for something small but heavy, something that could become a weapon if necessary. Where was Q and his marvellous inventions now? I highly doubted he would have kept something like that a secret from me for this long.

For an impossibly long while, Dr Gardiner scrolled through the code. At any moment I was expecting him to jerk away from the screen and reveal our deception. But he just kept reading it, his grey eyes sweeping back and forward behind his glasses. At last he stood up and looked at me. The expression in his eyes told me everything. He knew. I expected to feel an uncontrollable panic surge in me at the notion of certain death. But I found instead that I felt a numbness spreading over me, an all-encompassing calmness. So this was it.

"Remarkable," Dr Gardiner breathed, turning to Professor Reinhard, "It's magnificent."

It took all my strength and presence of mind not to let my jaw flop open. What on earth was he doing?

"So it'll will work?" Reinhard asked, a hopeful smile changing his face entirely. In his eyes I could see only one name moving through his mind. Ben. What he was doing was so far beyond immoral, it was insane. But he was doing it out of the immeasurable love that a parent has for a child. An inexplicable knot of guilt replaced the panic in my stomach.

"It appears so." Gardiner shot me a look. I didn't know why he was helping me, but if by some miracle we made it out of here alive, I would forever be grateful.

Reinhard turned to me. "If you are ready then, we'll begin testing this out."

I nodded confidently. At the back of my mind, a small flicker of concern registered. What if we had made a mistake? What if instead of harmlessly passing through my body and brain, the bots turned feral and killed me? But I trusted mine and Q's work. He'd already made me an unwilling guinea pig before and hadn't injured me.

Reinhard clapped his hands together once in a loud gesture of excitement. "Excellent, follow me then."

We retraced our steps back to the medical wing. Instead of going through to where I had been to have my shoulder fixed, we took a different turn. This part was much more heavily manned, with more doctors and medical staff, as well as much tighter security. All the doors had keypads and places to scan key-cards. Eventually we finished in a room that had one of the horrific, modified dentist chairs that I had discovered in the basement of the University a few weeks earlier.

"You're a brave woman, Anna," he said as we entered the room, "to test out something that has failed and killed multiple people before now. Including your dorm friend, Mei-Lein."

My hands balled reflexively into fists. I had suspected as much, but it had not been confirmed. So, she had been abducted to work on it as well and they had subjected her to the ultimately fatal testing. Why was he trying to antagonise me, now, when as far as he knew I had succeeded in fixing his precious nano-bots.

"But I just have to wonder." He begun to circle around me like a lion paces around a herd of antelope, watching, trying to pick out the most vulnerable member. He was trying to work out my weakness.

"Wonder what?" I challenged, straightening my back and raising my chin defiantly. If he was going to play this intimidation game, I would give as much as I got.

"It's awful selfless of you. We do the strangest things for the people we love. I am proof of that. I just wonder if you really believe in those little bots of yours, or if you're just willing to sacrifice yourself. I think we need a _different_ test subject to up the stakes a little."

His meaning became crystal clear. I whirled, jarring my shoulder painfully. But that was nothing compared to the visceral stab of pain that came as I saw one of the doctors jab a needle into Q's neck. He gave a small grunt of surprise, batting at the sensation as if he were trying to shoo away an insect. He looked up, his movements exaggeratedly slow and his eyes found mine. He suddenly looked so scared.

"What have you done?" I screamed, as his body buckled and he fell into the waiting arms of a guard.

"This really has been a very enlightening few days. You didn't think that I would actually let you and the head of research and development at MI6 loose, alone, on a computer? I had it bugged of course. I know exactly what you've done. You don't have enough faith in your own abilities. I believe that, in time, both of you will be able to able to solve my problem. That is, as long as the bots you were going to selflessly test on yourself don't kill _him_ first. Oh, and Dr Gardiner."

The Doctor looks up, fear in his eyes at the Professor. He quickly slid them to me. "I'm sorry Anna, I was too much of a coward to stop him."

I'm locked in a look with Dr Gardiner when, in my peripheral vision, I saw a familiar shape in Professor Reinhard's hand. Then followed a noise so loud that I felt it reverberating through my whole body. The face of my mentor that I had been looking at suddenly was replaced with a dark mess of red and pink. Behind him on the wall an abstract painting, all in the same horrific shade of red, suddenly appeared.

One of the nurses screamed. A guard near the door turned grey and looked that he was a few seconds away from vomiting on his uniform.

"Now," he pointed the gun at Q, "put him in the chair and let's give this a try."


	21. Chapter 21

"You know they don't work," I begged, my voice frantic as they dragged Q's limp body over to the chair, "What's the point in testing him?"

Reinhard whirled on me and grabbed my face in his left hand, squeezing my cheeks painfully. "I want you to see exactly how serious about this I am," he hissed.

He let go and I stumbled backwards away from him. It was like a sudden switch had flicked in my brain and I lost all sense of self preservation. Running now on pure instinct, I made a dash for the guard that was holding Q. I didn't know what I hoped to achieve by this wild gesture, but I knew that I at least had to try. I lunged, wildly, pulling at his arms reaching my hands up to his face and clawing at his balaclava. My nails found purchase underneath the wool and I pulled at skin. He screamed in pain and Q slipped from his arms and onto the floor.

An arm went around my waist and pulled me backward off the guard. I used all my strength to try and push him off. With my legs I kicked at him wildly, intending to do as much damage as physically possible.

"Keep struggling," a calm, collected voice whispered in my ear. Without turning round I knew immediately who was holding me. Images flashed up in my mind. Tunnels under London. A café under gun fire. Images that seemed to belong to some other life. Blond hair, a face care worn by far too many troubles, and cold blue eyes. Bond. It took only a moment to process what he had said to me, then I resumed my flailing. He pretended to have difficulty containing me even though I could tell that he had more strength in one arm than either I or Q combined.

"Take her outside," Reinhard snapped, "let her sweat it out not knowing if the bots kill him or not."

"No!" I yelled, only partly acting. Whether or not the agent was here to aid us, I still didn't want to be taken away from Q. I continued my struggle as he bundled me out into the corridor beyond the operating room. He carried me down the room, cursing at me as I continue to fight against his impossible hard body. All the time I am thinking, _how do we get Q out?_

Doctors and medical staff cast their eyes to the floor as I was dragged away from the scene. I supposed they'd learned to look away to the things that went on there for some time. Part of me was shocked that they would take their Hippocratic Oath with such frivolity. But there were some truly desperate people in the world and money was a very powerful call. Finally, I'm bundled into a store cupboard and Bond follows in after and switches on the light, kicking the door closed with hit boot.

"How long have you been here?" I hissed. He would have been much more useful before the shit had hit the fan.

Bond pulled off the balaclava. "Just dropped in a few minutes ago." The tone of his voice, and the semblance of a smirk suggested that he might have literally parachuted in just for the chance to use the god awful pun. "Tell me everything," he demanded flattening his hair with one defiant swipe of his gloved hand.

My lips were mashed into an angry line. "Why are you here instead of helping Q?"

"Because I can't watch both of you and five guards at once. Now quick, tell me what the bloody hell is going on here."

In as few words as possible, I do because the more time I take, the more time Q is in that room, strapped into that chair with his amazing brain a play thing for Reinhard and his team. I finish and he gave one sharp nod of his head, his face emotionless. "Right. You stay here until it's over. I'll come and get you."

I immediately stood to attention. "I'll come too…-"

"Anna." He said, in a stern yet composed voice. "You will get in the way. Stay here."

He didn't wait for my protests as he put back on the mask and returned out into the brightly lit corridor. I stood there feeling powerless, useless. That was the theme of today. Useless. I couldn't make my bots work. I couldn't even finish my stupid PhD. What exactly was I good fod?

The realisation was slow. I did know what I could do. This whole thing was hinged on one person. Benjamin Reinhard. If I could find my way back to him then I could… I could…

 _You could what_? A small voice in my head asked acidly. What was worse, one life that really couldn't be called a life, or the countless lives that Reinhard would take on his quest to heal his son? Unsure of whether or not I would do it, I had to at least find him and see. Slowly, I opened the door and walked back out into the corridor. The place was like a maze, but we were in the high security area, so we had to be close to Ben.

I raked my eyes over the walls trying to look for any glimmer of familiarity, while still trying to keep a low profile. It was late. Though what exact time I didn't know. All sense of time had become twisted in recent events. It wasn't helped by the fact that there didn't seem to be many windows in this mountain fortress that Reinhard had turned into his cliché version of a villainous lair.

The halls were almost bare of people and it was quiet enough that anytime anyone was near, I could hear their steps with enough time to get out of the way. Slowly, methodically, I checked all the rooms. It was nerve wracking. Every door that I came to, I half expected to turn the handle and open to a room filled with guards ready to drag me back to Reinhard. But I didn't. The whole time, I tried not to think about Q and about Bond. What was happening in that room? Had Bond waited until an opportune moment, or had he entered all guns blazing? I felt like if it had been the latter, I would have heard something by now. Had he stopped them injecting the bots into Q? If they hurt him… I didn't know how I'd ever live with myself. He'd chosen to come looking for me, yet, I still felt somehow responsible. I swallowed my self-pity and continued to look for the son. It would do no-one any good for me to fall apart now. I had to be better than that. And I was.

After what I judged to be another ten minutes of searching, I finally found his room. It was exactly as I had seen it a few days previously. An empty wing, with an area at the back screened off. I could hear the machines long before I could see them. There were so many of them, towering over this thin, impossibly fragile looking form. Was this what love looked like? Keeping the vital organs of someone functioning when the brain had long since waved the white flag of surrender? It seemed more cruel than kind to me.

I looked down at Ben. It was hard to picture how he might have looked. His skin was tinged grey and was dry and cracked in places, stretched tight across the bones of his face. The ventilator tube took up most of the bottom half of his sunken face. I wondered about him some more. Was there someone special in his life? A boyfriend or girlfriend perhaps whose life had been turned upside down by the accident. My heart suddenly lurched as I thought again about Q. I turned around and looked over my shoulder, as if I thought he was going to walk through the door at any moment. He didn't. That had crept up on me very fast. He was infuriating in so many different ways, yet I still wanted him still. Was there someone who had felt like that for Ben? Without really thinking about it, I pushed back a lock of unwashed hair off Ben's forehead. I bent down, and whispered into his ear.

"If you're in there, do something. Please. Give me a sign."

I backed away and studied his face for the faintest flicker of a muscle, his hands for the tiniest twitch. I even held my breath to steady myself so that I could catch any movement what so ever. The only thing was the slow, controlled, mechanical rise and fall of his chest.

Did I have the courage? Was it murder? Did the savings of others justify one death? Isn't that what generals say to justify wars? I looked around at the arrays of machines with countless buttons to push. Which one would seal his fate? I had a sneaking suspicion that his fate had been sealed long ago and there was just one domino left to fall. And I could be the one to push it over.

But there was still Michael to consider. Could I still save him? Was there any _possible_ way that what Professor Reinhard was doing here could ever work? If there was just the smallest chance…

There was a click behind me. I froze.

"Step away, Anna."

Slowly, I turned around to face him. Reinhard was pointing the same gun he had used to kill Dr. Gardiner directly at me. How had he got away from Bond? Where was Q? Was he alive, or were the nano-bots loose, turning his marvellous brain into mush as we spoke?

"There has been too much death already. Why is one life worth the waste of so many more?"

"Because he is my _son_ , Anna," he spat, his eyes blazing with pain beyond what they could support, "You wouldn't understand. Only a parent can truly appreciate that feeling."

"Have you ever considered what's best for him? Have you considered what the years in this bed has done to the rest of his body? This is just cruel. This is not love. This is madness."

"Don't test me, Anna!"

Slowly, I reached out my arm towards the nearest button that I can see written with the word 'Power'. He gave a warning shake of the gun, his eyes wild.

"What if you miss?" I asked defiantly, "How good is your aim?" I can feel the air between me and the machine disappearing. "What's the body count now? How many parents have you robbed of their kids?"

 _I'm sorry, Michael_. With a surge of adrenalin, I feel my finger connect to the button. Alarms started blaring immediately. _What did I just do?_

"No!" he screamed, lunging towards the bed. Without waiting, I rushed for the door behind me. But it wasn't me he was after. He'd gone for the machine. I didn't wait to find out the result. I ran.

I crashed through the service corridors, not even pausing to think where I was going. Through one set of doors, through another. I stared at the set of stairs that were in front of me. They spiralled up, not down. Where was up? Further into the mountain? Behind me, I heard a distant slamming of doors and running steps. Up it was then. My legs burned with toxic lactic acid after the first few flights. There were no other corridors. Just more and more stairs. Below me, there was an answering set of feet, and they sounded as though they were catching up.

My heart raced, pumping blood and glucose as fast as they could to my muscles. But I could feel the pain already building up. There was no escaping Biology, I wouldn't be able to carry on for much longer. Science refused to be argued with. At last, I reached the top and was met with a fire exit. I slammed my body into the bar and stumbled through. The wave of ice cold air hit me in one stinging burst as I did. In the few seconds that I could spare I glanced around to get a bearing on my surroundings. It was very dark, the middle of the night, and only a few safety lights gave me any clue as to where I was. It seemed to me like some sort of helipad for the building, but I couldn't be sure.

"Anna!" the yell from behind me caused me to whirl. Professor Ernest Reinhard was silhouetted against the light from the door that led to the staircase. "You've nowhere else to go."

"I'm not going back. You can't make me." I yelled into the wind. The moon on the snow created a haunting blue glow all around but it wasn't bright enough to show me detail. I must have been several stories up, but beyond the edge of the helipad, I couldn't tell exactly how high. If I jumped would the landing be soft, or suicide? "MI6 have sent an agent to retrieve Q. He's already in the building. It's only a matter of time before he gets to you!" The adrenaline was giving me courage but not common sense. It's probably not very sensible to antagonise someone who has a gun pointed at you.

"They can have him, for all he's worth now."

What I had perceived as cold was nothing compared to how I felt then as every single drop of blood turned to ice in my veins. I felt completely numb. My head span and I felt dizzy.

"No. You're lying." The bots were harmless. They _had_ to be. We'd programmed them that way.

"We can fix him, Anna, it may take years, but we will save him, and Ben, and Michael. Together."

"I'm not hurting anyone else for you!" I screamed. The scales had already been tipped too far. The body count was too high and I wasn't about to help him add more.

"Then you're useless to me." He spat the words out like they were poison on his tongue. He strode towards me, gun raised. I backed away as far as the roof space would allow. I stopped at the edge. There was nothing below me but void. A click. I flinched. Nothing. He threw the gun down onto the ground. Useless. He kept coming then, faster, his face a dark mask of rage. He grabbed me by both shoulders and I screamed in pain as the wound on my right shoulder exploded with pain. But I was feeling again, and the pain sent the fire of life into the rest of my body. I had enough presence of mind to know that if I was going down, I would take him with me. If I could do anything, it would be to try and ensure I was the last body with his name on its lips. He tried to push me over the edge, but I grabbed onto him like a vice. I could see his eyes go wide as the balance shifts too far beyond his control. The moment was slow, almost graceful as we fall together. Too soon though, I hit something solid and the impact separates us. Instinct took over and my arms flew wildly. Searched. Found. My good arm wrapped around something solid and my fall came to an abrupt stop. I could feel Reinhard's larger body disconnect further from mine as he continued to fall. He bounced off something, a ledge, and disappeared into the darkness beyond. The wind swallowed up the scream that issued from him as he plummeted. I remained still for a long time. My weight was supported by something but I was too afraid to move. It could be solid, or a glorified gutter that was separating me from certain death. Could I stay still long enough until dawn broke so I could assess the situation? Or would the cold rob me of life long before the light changed?

A noise above me. Was whatever was holding me up starting to buckle? Perhaps I had just delayed the inevitable.

"Hardly the time for hanging around." The voice was familiar and the flood of relief makes me want to burst into tears. A large, strong hand wrapped around my forearm and Bond pulled me back from the ledge as though I weighed no more than a small child. He set me on my feet and placed his hands very gently on my upper arms by way of reassurance. "Are you alright?"

I shook my head quickly, though the words out of my mouth were "I'm fine." A sudden pang of remembrance. "Q, how is he?"

"Disorientated by the drugs, but I imagine he'll be back to his precocious self in no time." In the dim light, I could see a small smile on his lips. "They didn't hurt him. He's fine." My legs wobbled from the sudden rush of relief. I had known it, in my heart, but the confirmation was no less sweet.

Bond peered over the ledge beyond us, into the blackness. "Reinhard?"

"He fell." He gives a single nod to show that he's heard me, then ushers me back into the building. Down the stairs, we retraced out steps and found our way back into the room with Ben.

"I tried to turn off his machine," I said, looking down at the figure, his chest still rising and falling with uneasy formality. "Reinhard must have turned it back on again. How many times more does this poor guy have to die?"

Bond flexes his hand. "Just once more." I don't even see the gun before the deed is done. My hand flew wordlessly to my mouth. The wound is clean, a small hole in the centre of his forehead. The machines start to blare a single high note. It was over.

"Come on," he said, disengaging the barrel of the gun. It had finished for now. "Let's go collect our Quartermaster."


	22. Chapter 22

The journey down the mountain and back into town was long but quiet. Q was still recovering from the anaesthetic and hadn't woken up yet. I was in the backseat beside him while Bond drove. Eventually, I worked up the courage to ask him just exactly how he came to be in just the right place at the right time.

"How did you know we were in trouble?"

Dawn was breaking and I could see his pale face reflected in the rear view mirror as he glanced up at us.

"Q told me about the abduction. He didn't mention that he was going to try and blunder his way through a rescue but… I guessed as much."

"Still, doesn't explain how you managed to find us."

He smiled again and for the first time the emotion seemed to reach all the way to his eyes. I felt privileged to glimpse the real human behind the assassin. Though, I wasn't sure that I wanted to get to know him too well. What he did to earn a wage. How easily he had put a bullet into Ben. It terrified me. He terrified me. He was so calm and composed all the time, yet, the terrible things he must have seen and done. That sort of thing weighed heavy on a soul, and I didn't even want to know how much blood soaked baggage he was carrying around.

"He's very clever. Give him a keyboard and he can cause chaos in minutes. But fieldwork? Whether intentional or not, Hansel here left me some pretty big breadcrumbs to follow all the way to the witch's house."

"If I'm remembering the original manuscript correctly, I suppose I have to attempt to stuff you into an oven now, 007," the Quartermaster mumbled, his speech laboured and slurred. My heart soared. Not only was he awake, but in one single sardonic sentence he had confirmed that he was still perfectly himself. I wanted to bury myself in his arms, to hold and be held tightly, but he was still very groggy and our positions in the car would have made it awkward. I settled for linking my hand with his.

The agent let out a small chuckle. "I'd like to see you try."

By the time we reached the University Campus, it was early morning. Q still hadn't completely roused. We stopped briefly. I grabbed a bag of clean clothes, my phone, and a few other bits and bobs before returning to the car. I didn't know when I was going to return to the campus to pack my stuff. I was half tempted just to leave everything here and forget about it all. Pretend that this portion of my life had never happened. But that was a stupid way of thinking. I couldn't simply wish this last few days away. They had happened, and I would have to come to terms with a lot of the consequences. I had nearly died after all. Though I felt bizarrely detached from that notion, I knew that the reality of it would soon hit.

We made it to a hotel where Bond had miraculously already managed to secure three rooms. We helped Q up the stairs and into his room. He slumped onto the bed and I took off his boots before helping him to crawl under the covers. He was asleep, face almost completely submerged in pillows before I could attempt to take off his glasses.

"I'll be down the hall, room 12 if you need me." Bond held up another key card. "Number 14, your room." He set the card down onto the desk and deliberately slid his eyes slowly from me, to Q, and back again. "Should you need it," He added with a knowing smirk. I glared at him in the practiced way that only someone who has grown up with an older sibling can. He chuckled and waved a hand in farewell before closing the door.

It felt like years since I had slept. Had it only been a day ago since Q's botched rescue attempt? I kicked off my shoes and climbed into the bed, next to the sleeping Quartermaster. My eyes were closed only a few moments before I fell into a deep sleep.

It was late afternoon when I stirred to a gentle knock on the door. I hadn't undressed, or even apparently moved. My muscles were achy, probably from all the stairs that I had run up. I got up and moved to the door, checked the spy hole, and opened up for the hotel staff member.

"Room service," she announced with a warm smile.

"We didn't…"

"The order was placed from Room 12. Your friend?"

Bond. "Thank you," I said, standing aside to let her in. She wheeled the trolley in softly and set up a temporary table to hold the vast amount of food that seemed to be all for us. "Enjoy your meal."

After she closed the door behind her, I inspected the food, lifting off each silver cloche in turn. It looked like Bond had simply ordered one of everything off the menu. There was far too much for the both of us to even attempt finishing, but my stomach answered with a grumble to let me know that it was up for the challenge. I roused Q. He was still groggy but hungry enough to make a good impersonation of a lion devouring a kill. Where he put it on his slim frame I had no idea. We ate silently, too hungry for conversation. Drinks had also been ordered. Q sipped at some wine while I swigged a beer.

"What happened while I was out?" he asked finally, pushing away one of the plates, defeated by the volume of food. "What happened to Reinhard?"

I told him everything. He listened intently, his emotions unreadable. After I finished the story with the fate of Reinhard's son, he leant back against the pillow and sighed. He took off his glasses, pinched the bridge of his nose, then replaced them.

"I apologise for dragging you into this, Anna. If I had known the danger…"

"But you did, remember? M warned me in his office that there could be trouble and that if there was that I was on my own. If you did anything, you lied about the last bit by coming back for me. Though, it shouldn't surprise me that a group of spies lied to me."

He found that particularly funny.

"Why did you come back for me?"

There was a sudden and drastic change in his face. Mirth to serious as quickly as the cars he designed for his agents. "Anna… if you have to ask…"

My lips spread wide into a grin. Seeing my response, he smiled and my heart felt like it was going to leap out of my chest. His dark hair was scruffy, sticking out at odd angles. His green eyes, framed by dark lashes were fixed on me with sleepy content. There was only one word that could form in my mind; Beautiful. My tongue began to feel too big, too dry for my mouth. Inside, my stomach tossed like a boat on an unquiet sea. The familiar pattern of beating in my chest quickened unexpectedly. To distract myself, I began to clear up the plates of half eaten food from the bed. I desperately wanted to kiss him, to touch him, to feel him. But we'd both been through the most stressful of situations. Our heads weren't clear. This wasn't the time.

"I'm going for a shower, do you need the bathroom before I do?"

I could just have easily gone to my own room, but I didn't want to be alone, even if I had decided that things tonight should be kept platonic. He shook his head and I grabbed my bag and headed into the bathroom. I stayed in there a long time, letting the room fill up with steam as I stood under the shower. The hot water drained all the energy from my body and when I finally finished, I was exhausted. I took one of the robes off the hook on the door and wrapped it round me. With one hand I wiped away a section of the fogged up mirror. My hair looked a lot darker when it was wet. The colour of sand when the tide departs. I smiled at the reflection and rubbed at the points on my cheeks where Reinhard had grabbed my face. Even if my brain was doing its best to forget the events of the last few days, my muscles could not.

Without permission, my heart began to beat faster again. I suddenly found myself wishing I'd brought more things with me from my dorm room. Makeup, a razor, perfume. Things that had never crossed my mind suddenly made an appearance, like the desire to have exercised more and eaten less. I studied the reflection, but gave up. There was no way I'd ever be able to think about myself objectively. If there was one time I would be grateful of Q's over analytical mind, it would be now. What was it he had said to me before the benefit?

"I enjoy your company and your personality. For this reason I will always find you attractive, regardless of your outward appearance."

He had really pissed me off when he had said that. But now, standing here on the edge of something brand new, the words were comforting. Despite my earlier hesitations, I knew that I wanted to do this. After all, who knew what tomorrow would bring?

"Fuck it," I breathed to the woman in the glass. She replied with a knowing smile. I left the bathroom in just the robe. Every bead of water on my skin that hadn't been towelled off tingled on my skin. Q, who was sat on the edge of the bed, looked up. His face took on a very strange expression. A malfunction of emotions. I tried to read it quickly, but found myself unable. As with everything, subtle hints might just sail over his perception. I needed a bold gesture. So I did the first thing that came to mind. I began to untie my robe.

"Wait." He held out his hand to me, gesturing for me to stop. Flames of embarrassment burst onto my cheeks. Had I completely misjudged the situation? He stood up slowly and walked across the room to me.

"May I?"  
I let out a small breath of relief and nod. He took the sash of the robe from my shaking hands and pulled the knot apart. The whole time he didn't break eye contact and I felt like I was going to fall into his green irises. The robe fell open and he put his hands on my bare hips and pulled me toward him. I gasped and he pulled his hands away immediately. Panic. "What?"

I giggled. "Your hands. They're cold." It was his turn to feel relieved. The tension had broken leaving only the desire. I grabbed the front of his jumper and pulled him back into an embrace. Our mouths locked together in a slow, deep kiss. He tasted of the wine he'd been drinking throughout the meal. Under my robe his hands explored my skin. Even though he kept away from my most sensitive areas, I still felt like I had been electrified. We broke apart again and I took off his glasses and helped him pull off his jumper. He was as slim as I had suspected, and pale. Too much time indoors, staring at screens and forgetting to eat. But I didn't care. I wanted him still, wanted to count every mole and freckle on his body, wanted to feel his skin against and inside mine. He nudged my face with his nose, seeking my mouth again. We kissed intermittently, pausing only to remove the remaining items of clothing until both of us were completely exposed.

An unnecessary yet essential question. "Yes?"

An answer. "Yes."

Nothing else needed to be said. We stumbled awkwardly over to the bed, not wanting to let go of each other. He accidentally pulled my hair. I accidentally elbowed him in the ribs. In haste and anxiety, he managed to break two condoms. I told him to shut up and stop apologising. He succeeded with the third. The whole affair lasted no more than fifteen minutes. It never does take very long the first time. It felt strange at first, like a piece of a jigsaw puzzle that doesn't quite fit. But after a few moments, we found a rhythm that matched us both. The earth didn't move, but there was certainly potential. At his ending, I had to inform him that I wasn't quite finished yet. Apologetic, he endeavoured to rectify the situation. It didn't take very long for him to succeed. Both satisfied, we lay chest to chest in the warmth under the bed sheets.

"Thank you."

I chuckled. "That's the first time I've ever been thanked."

"I have been brought up to observe certain sensibilities."

"Remind me to let your parents know what a good job they did raising you."

"I would appreciate it if you left out the details."

I laughed and kissed him again. We were quick learners of each other's bodies, our likes and our dislikes and throughout the night when we repeated the actions twice more, each time even better than before. If we could make such progress in one night, the future looked very pleasing indeed.

I woke many hours later to the sound of my ringtone. Sleepily, I disentangled myself from his embrace and sat on the edge of the bed to answer it. Mum's ID was flashing on the screen. I grinned. It had crossed my mind more than once when I had been in Reinhard's complex that I may never have had the opportunity to speak to her again. I answered it hastily.

"Hi, Mum!"

"Anna." Her voice was thick, like she was chewing on too much toffee. My heart caught in my throat, instantly suffocating me. This wasn't the first phone call I'd answered like this.

"Mum, what's wrong," I asked, choking on the words as they latched onto my throat. I had to know what happened, but the fear was crushing. Beside me on the bed, I could feel movement as Q stirred from his sleep.

"Well," she paused to sniff, "do you want the good news or the bad news first?"

My chest was tight and my eyes burned. What I imagined was always worse than what the truth was. "What's the bad news."

"Michael's had another stroke."

This was what I had been both expecting and dreading. As soon as I had heard her voice, I knew this was going to be the reason for her call. Still, that was the bad news. I had the good news still to come. It seemed as though everything would be okay after all. "And the good news?"

"He's not going to have any more, sweetheart."

It felt like a black hole had erupted in the centre of my chest, and my body seemed to cave in around it. My legs suddenly lost all their muscles. I grabbed the bedside table as they folded underneath me. I slid off the bed and hit the floor with a thud that seemed to echo indefinitely. My vision rippled as the burning tears in my eyes finally consumed them.

"Oh, Mum…" My jaw trembled with the effort of restraining the worst of my tears.

"Anna, I'm so sorry," she whispered from the other end of the phone. I sensed Q was awake now. A hand slowly crept into my peripheral vision and lifted black frames from the table.

"No, no, it's okay mum. It's better like this, right?" My words were sincere and I believed them, but even still, my voice cracked and the tears still flowed mercilessly. Q gently got down off the bed and onto the plush carpet beside me. He wrapped his thin arms around my shoulders, locking them under my chin, and held me tightly as though he were afraid that I was going to crumble into a million little pieces. To be honest, I wasn't entirely sure that I wouldn't. "When did… did he go?"

"Only a few hours ago, I would have phoned earlier, but I didn't want to worry you unless…"

She trailed off. I guessed that she was going to finish with something like "unless he had died" but couldn't bring herself to say it.

"I understand. I'll be home as soon as I can, okay?"

"Call me as soon as you get travel sorted."

"I will."

"I love you Anna."

"I love you too, Mum."

With a click the phone call was finished and I let the grief take over. The phone fell from my hand and I let the waves of sobs shake through my body. He hugged me tighter, if that was even possible, afraid that they were going to shake me apart at my fragile seams. The sadness was crushing, and in that moment it felt as though I could never possibly be happy again.

"I'm sorry," he whispered into my hair after the worst of the storm had passed.

"Don't be," I sniffed, wiping my face on the bare skin of my arm, "It really is better like this."

He gave me a little squeeze and then kissed the back of my head. Less violent tears began to slowly leak from my eyes. But these tears were a different flavour. A kind of bittersweet happiness. After stumbling awkwardly through life for the last two years, his brain riddled with ever increasing number of broken circuits, Michael was finally free. And now, so was I. Free from the guilt of the what if's that had followed me down the mountain from Reinhard's institution.

We continued to sit on the floor until we became cold, then I got back into bed and Q got dressed. Then, just when I thought I had cried every tear possible, he did something that made me start all over again. The anxiety riddled, plane-phobic genius booked not only me, but himself, a ticket on the next available flight back to England.


	23. Epilogue

Lucy squeezed my shoulder as we looked down at the hole in the ground that was slowly being filled in.

"Are you going to be all right?" she asked, then winced immediately. "I mean… I know you're not alright, but…" she trailed off, figuring that it was better to stop saying things at all rather than to keep searching for the right words. Were there any right words to be had at this points? I wasn't sure.

Mum had returned to the church hall several minutes ago. She couldn't stick around to watch them pilling the dirt onto the wooden box. Even though I knew, and she knew, that it wasn't really Michael in there, it was still too painful for her. I sighed. My head was throbbing from all the tears I'd shed over the last week, and I knew there were still more to come.

"I'll be okay."

"Take as long as you need, I'll be right here."

I gave my friend a grateful smile. "Thanks Lucy, but I'd rather be alone for a few minutes." She looked a little hurt, and I was sorry for that, but I did want to be alone. She gave me a hug and then slowly walked away from the graveside. It was just me and the gravedigger now as he slowly chucked shovel after shovel of disturbed earth back into its rightful place.

I still felt guilty. Not about the Eiger Institution or Reinhard's research. But, about the fact that a small part of me was relieved. Was that wrong? Wrong to be relieved that my brother was dead? I had loved him no less, but it had been like trying to get to know him all over again after the accident. He wasn't the person that I'd known my whole life, he was an unrecognisable stranger that wore his body. And it caused mum so much stress, worry and financial burden. Was it wrong to be relieved for her on those accounts?

"I don't know what to say," a familiar voice said behind me.

"I thought you said you weren't coming?" I asked, looking over my shoulder at Q. He was wearing a long black wool overcoat and a black scarf obscured his neck. It washed all the colour out of his already pale face.

He shrugged. "Moneypenny… that is, M's personal assistant, said I should. I don't know what use I'm being though."

"This isn't something you can fix with a few lines of code Q," I breathed.

He walked slowly, his shoes brushing through the wet grass, and stood beside me. "I don't like feeling useless. It doesn't sit well with me. I don't like not knowing what to say."

"There's nothing you have to say."

We stood, not speaking. After a while, I put my arm through his and leaned on his shoulder. Partly out of need of warmth, partly out of need of comfort.

"This is probably a bad time but... M was asking about whether or not you'd made a decision on our offer."

I had. "No."

He nodded quickly. "Of course. I thought that you probably would need more time given the circumstances."

"I mean; No, I'm not going to work for you."

He turned his face and looked at me with mild incredulity. Perhaps I was hurting him with my response but I was too numb to notice.

"I didn't finish my doctorate. I want to go back to University and try again." I paused and tried to interpret his face. As always it gave nothing away. "Besides," I added with a weak smile. "I don't think I'd be very good employee. You'd be telling me what to do and that wouldn't sit well with me."

The left hand corner of his mouth turned up in a half smile. "I had envisioned it being a little problematic in our current situation. M doesn't like office relationships. But I would be lying if I said I wasn't disappointed. You would have been a great addition to the team."

"Maybe someday."

We stayed there for a few moments longer before he slowly detached my arm from his. "I'm going now. They'll be wondering where you are and today is not the day for introductions."

I nodded and turned my face up towards him. This was a cue that he was beginning to learn and he obliged with a quick, gentle kiss. We walked in opposite directions, me to the church and Q to the carpark. Then, recalling one as yet unfinished piece of business I called out to him. He stopped and looked round.

"And at your earliest convenience, you're taking this tracker out of my blood, understand?"

With a smirk that was reminiscent of Bond, he turned around without replying and resumed walking.

* * *

**_6 months later_ **

There was a loud bang and I was awake immediately. My first thought was that Q had woken up with another of his panic attacks. They'd gotten much less frequent and I was frustrated at the prospect of them having returned. But it wasn't that. Q was awake, calm and sitting up searching for his glasses in the dark. Maybe one of the cats had knocked something over in retaliation for being kicked out of the bedroom earlier that night. Sex in front of pets was deeply unsettling and I had drawn a stern line under them being in the room for it. Then, I noticed that the light was on. Confused, I looked around and that's when I saw the figure standing in the doorway. With a yelp I grabbed the bed sheet and pulled it up under my arms to cover myself.

"Am I interrupting something?" Bond asked from the shadow of the hall.

"If you mean sleep, then yes, you are," Q shot back. He was trying to sound angry, but his voice was still clogged with sleep and instead his voice came out like a rather pathetic croak.

Bond smirked. Then, he tossed something onto the bed. Q picked it up to read the label. It was a box of tea, Earl Grey. Fancy stuff. Definitely not from the shelf of a supermarket. "You once made a claim that you could do more damage than I could do in a year, in your pyjamas, before your first cup of Earl Grey. It's time to honour your word."

"Is this for your own sadistic pleasure," Q grumbled, buttoning up his sensible flannel night shirt, "or is there an actual purpose to waking us up at 4am?"

Bond straightened his cuff sleeves. "I'll put the kettle on." He disappeared down the hall into the kitchen. Obviously the most highly respected agent in MI6 had pushed a button he wasn't supposed to and had broken his computer, or more probably a country, and was too embarrassed to admit it. Q rubbed his eyes under his lenses and then looked at me.

"Would you like to watch me run circles around him?"

I stroked his cheek lightly in affection, my fingers prickling along the almost day old growth there. I kissed him quickly on the lips. "This is why I declined the MI6 job. Besides, I've got class in the morning. I'm going back to bed. You two have fun."

I pulled the blanket up over my head and lay back down. With the door now open and a vacancy in the bed, Linux and Macintosh jumped up and snuggled down beside me. I drifted off to sleep with the sound of stereo purring and the background noise of two most important people in British intelligence arguing over a computer.


End file.
